


A Meeting of Equal Halves

by Ressick



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-19 02:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ressick/pseuds/Ressick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots detailing the life of Hermione and Fleur, who live with Harry and Luna at Grimmauld Place in London. The one-shots are written and posted out of chronological order. They are glimpses into the two women's post-War lives, detailing their families, friends, dreams, hopes, and work. It is a new world after the fall of Tom Riddle. How will they cope?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Ease To Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The title for this series of one-shots comes from a poem by the late Paul Monette. This chapter's title comes from a Peter Yarrow lyric. The original idea for this particular chapter started as a running joke in correspondence with [**whistlethesilver**](http://whistlesilver.livejournal.com/) regarding her amazing Fleur/Hermione story "Witnessed here in Time and Blood" and there are fond nods to it within this series though the two are very separate. This is EWE but otherwise mostly canon-compliant.

12 Grimmauld Place, London, 1 September 2020

Hermione rolled her eyes and shoved her mass of curly hair into a rough ponytail while looking up the stairs. "We're going to be late if you don't get down here right now!" She would turn forty-one in less than a month, and it seemed like her life still revolved around getting to Kings Cross on the first of September. Why couldn't her children have inherited her propensity for being on time and prepared?

Her spouse hurried into the entryway, green robes worn over muggle-style scrubs and large work bag in hand. "I have just had a call. Injuries on the dragon reserve. They need all hands. You'll have to bring the children to the station without me. I am sorry, ma cherie."

"It's so bad they want a midwife to help?" she asked rhetorically, with a slight tinge of annoyance. Her wife worked far too much sometimes.

"I am also a trauma healer! And have a Defense Mastery! Mais oui. It is bad." Fleur kissed her quickly, and shouted up the stairs, "I have to go, darlings! Work calls. Be good for your mother and write as soon as you can!" With a quiet pop, she disappeared from the hall.

Two tousled heads looked out of their rooms. "Maman!" the younger shouted, too late.

"Rosalind, Marion, come on now. If we'd been ready, perhaps your maman could have at least seen you off instead of shouting up the stairs like a hooligan. Finish packing. It'll take longer now that we won't have her with us to help." Hermione sighed as both children sadly returned to their mostly-filled school trunks, a tear tracking down Marion's cheek. It was her first year, her first time on the Express, and while she was used to Fleur's emergency calls disrupting family plans, they'd all hoped to avoid one for this morning.

From the floor above her children's rooms, a small procession of three trunks levitated down the stairs, her best friend behind them. "Coming through, loves, mind the trunks!" he said, smiling. A smile which faded when he saw the look of consternation on his sister's face. "What's going on? Did I hear Fleur a moment ago?" he asked.

"Yes, injuries on the reserve again. She can't really be the only healer who won't faint at the sight of a dragon. She's already left," Hermione grumbled.

He sighed, running a hand through dark hair starting to be touched with gray. "Damn. I'm sorry. Do the girls need help?"

"Of course. You know they both always wait to the last minute, on everything." As the trunks Harry was levitating settled by the door, the best friends climbed the stairs, separating, one to each room, to help Rosalind and Marion pack, as three children and Luna stampeded down to the kitchen.

Hermione stepped into her younger daughter's room, and was immediately dismayed by the piles of _stuff_ everywhere. "Marion, I thought you had this all sorted yesterday!" she scolded, her temper starting to rise. "Come now, we have to get this done!" She looked at the girl's trunk, and saw it was already full. Of books. She shook her head. Her daughters had both picked up her rampant bibliophilia, but Marion needed clothes and supplies as well as books. She pulled out her wand, levitating all the books onto the bed. Textbooks and basic references went back into the trunk, along with a handful of what she knew were Marion's favorites as well as a couple she knew the girl was currently reading. Supplies, stacked neatly in the corner, went in next, and uniform pieces. Socks, undergarments, and casual clothes rounded out the contents of the trunk. Even then, it wouldn't close. She sighed, levitated everything out, and then enchanted the trunk much as she had for Rosalind before her second year. Immediately, there was three times the space. Not quite enough room to require a well-placed accio to find anything, but more than enough space for all her daughter's supplies, books, and clothes. With a final featherweight charm, she closed the lid and levitated the trunk to pile next to the Potter trunks. "There, all set. Have you already sent off Athena? Or is she still up in the owlry?"

"She left this morning, mum. I'm sure she'll beat me there," Marion answered, a slight hint of sadness in her tone.

"Good. Why don't you head down to the kitchen? I need to check on your sister and Uncle Harry." Hermione grabbed her younger daughter into a brief hug, and then shooed her out the door. Stepping next door, she found Rosalind's trunk packed, but her kneazle Stephen was refusing to go into her carrier. Stephen was, in fact, hissing at both Harry and Rosalind with her ruff wide and angry, her tail puffed up.

"Please, Stephen, it's just a few hours," Rose was pleading. Hermione shook her head. She didn't even know why her daughter had bothered to read _The Well of Loneliness_ , let alone name her beloved kneazle after the main character. It was an utterly depressing book, and Hermione only had it due to a frenzy of research done when she was first coming to terms with being attracted to her wife.

"We'll be late if Stephen doesn't get going," Hermione said from the doorway, brandishing her wand and levitating the yowling animal right into the carrier. The angry calico hissed and spit angrily from within her confinement. "And I know she'll be cross with me for months, but luckily she'll be at Hogwarts for most of it." She turned to her daughter and her best friend, "Well, let's get going. Marion's ready, and Harry, yours are all set?" He nodded, grabbing Rosalind's trunk and moving downstairs with it. "Now, sweetheart, let's go. You've got a train to catch." She smiled, smoothing her daughter's curly blonde hair and settling an arm around her shoulders. With that, mother and daughter headed down the stairs.

X-X-X-X-X

As they walked down to the kitchen, Hermione heard the floo activate, and then the excited tones of the assembled children as well as Teddy Lupin.

He turned to her as she walked into the room, "Sorry, auntie, lecture ran a bit long, I got here as soon as I could."

She smiled at her nephew. "Quite alright, Teddy, you're here now, and we'll need the help. Tante Fleur was called to work."

The young man frowned for a second, and his hair changed from bright blue to a more dull shade of aqua, before he smiled again, "Well, it's good that I was almost on time, then! And for Marion's first trip, too! Here, Kreacher packed some lunches, let's get them in your bags."

With Teddy's help to wrangle his younger cousins, lunches were soon packed into knapsacks along with robes and a book each. Leaving Teddy, along with Harry and Luna's eldest, Jane, who was a Prefect this year, to corral the others, left the adults free to drag the trunks through the floo after the children. Jane and Rosalind held onto their cat carriers, and Cedric's corn snake was instructed to wrap himself tightly around the boy's upper arm. Luckily the two owls had been sent ahead.

The floo point at Platform 9 and ¾ was bustling, but with long practice all arrived safely – Harry and Luna's three children: new Ravenclaw prefect Jane, along with second year Hufflepuff twins Cedric and John, plus their cousins, Hermione and Fleur's daughters - third year Ravenclaw Rosalind and first year Marion. Teddy and Luna pulled the children to the side while Hermione and Harry levitated all five trunks onto the train, settling them in the first empty compartment they found.

Stepping back onto the platform, the two went over to their assembled children. Luna was already speaking to them, "And remember to say hello to Hagrid and Neville, now. I'm sure they'd both appreciate seeing you outside of classes. Hagrid can always use help with the thestrals or hippogriffs. And Neville can often use a hand in the greenhouses." They exchanged a look, as much as they both loved Hagrid, thestrals and hippogriffs weren't really age appropriate for any of the children except perhaps Jane. Then again, with Luna as a mother or aunt, all of them had experience with unusual animals from a very young age.

Harry spoke as his wife started to fuss over the twins and Marion leaned against Hermione, "And I don't want to get another owl from Professor Sprout about your snake getting loose in the tunnels again," he said to Cedric. "Tell him to stay to your room if you're not with him. You're lucky Hufflepuffs aren't as likely to label a parseltongue a dark wizard anymore, but they can still be scared by a snake wandering around the common room. He could be hurt if he startles the wrong person."

Hermione slid an arm around each of her daughters, "Keep an eye on each other as always, please. And write. Two owls between all of you can carry quite a few letters." She glanced at the large clock overhead. "We put all your trunks into the third forward compartment on the right; it's getting late enough that you should probably climb aboard." She held her daughters close, a few tears slipping down her cheek. "Now be good, girls," she whispered into their hair, "and write tomorrow morning with your schedules and such. Your mère and I love you very much. If you need anything let us know."

She let them go after their mumbled goodbyes, and turned to her niece and nephews, fussing over the boys' untamable hair and Jane's new Prefect badge. "Be good, you lot, and Jane, I'm counting on you to keep them all in line, you understand? I know it's your OWL year but don't study too hard. I'm quite sure a well planned review will be more than enough. You know you can always owl your tante and I." She hugged them all, then shooed them onto the train as Harry and Luna finished their goodbyes with her children.

She stood between Harry and Teddy as the children waved from their compartment. Soon the crowd picked up, rushing to the train as the little group stepped back towards the wall. Various friends appeared with their families, nodding as they loaded children, cats, owls, and trunks onboard. A few stopped to chat briefly, but as the train whistle blew, they all concentrated on their own children. Hermione waved as it pulled out of the station, until she couldn't see her family anymore. Pulling a handkerchief from her pocket, she dabbed at her eyes before turning to her remaining nephew. "Now, I don't think you have a class this afternoon, correct?" Teddy nodded, "So why don't you join us for lunch? I think we were planning on taking a nice walk to that Indian place. I'm in the mood for curry." He smiled. Growing up in the Delacour-Granger-Lovegood-Potter household had given him a taste for a wide variety of foods compared to most British wizards.

"Of course, auntie. Anything for curry," Teddy grinned widely, letting his hair cycle between several bright colors before settling on his late mother's natural mousy brown. Though his normal build was reminiscent of Remus, his hair and features were much more like his mother's. Sometimes this would strike Hermione when she looked at him, and wish the pair could see their son now, grown and happy and attending university. "I just have rehearsal at seven, but I'm free until then."

"Which ensemble is it tonight? You haven't given me your new schedule for that yet," Hermione asked, linking her arm with her nephew's.

"Jazz. I'm swapping between clarinet and flute this term. The last flautist graduated and is now playing on a street corner somewhere, or something."

She laughed, following Harry and Luna into the muggle section of Kings Cross. "Well there certainly aren't enough good jazz flautists out there. Remember to write down all your recitals, and I'm sure Fleur will try to get the time off. You know how the hospital can be. She's too good for them not to call in during an emergency."

"Tante has made it to most of my recitals, you know that. I think the last one she missed was because of that escaped green that tried to burn down half the keeper's village."

Hermione frowned; she hadn't seen Fleur for days when that happened, the casualties had been so numerous. And she'd only seen her wife in passing when she'd stopped by the hospital. "Yes, I think that was it. I brewed seven cauldrons of burn-healing paste after I got her owl, and saw her for about ten minutes when I dropped them off. She didn't come home for a week. If she wasn't saving lives right now I'd pitch a fit since she missed seeing Marion off. Luckily we're all used to it."

"That's what comes with being married to one of the most talented Healers at St Winifrede's," he teased.

"True enough," she said proudly. "And the only one who won't run screaming from a dragon." Hermione smirked. To her, it was something to be a little smug about. Though she too had dealt with a dragon once, even ridden it, she had not confronted it face-on, and was immensely proud of her wife's courage. Even if it did mean that her spouse, who generally worked as a midwife, got called out as part of the trauma team dispatched to the dragon reserve with alarming regularity. Dragons weren't a class five dangerous creature for no reason.

X-X-X-X

The meal passed quickly. Curry, biryani, aloo gobi, samosas, were all ordered, and the group chatted for hours with their chai and lassi in hand. Hermione ordered take-away for Fleur, and slid the carton into the icebox once she was home, a plastic cup of mango lassi next to it. She sighed. Usually when there was an emergency on the reserve, Fleur didn't get home until late at night. Her wife was a very thorough and careful healer, and preferred to stay with a patient until they fully stabilized or were at least under the watchful eye of one of her preferred on-duty nurses.

And they wouldn't hear about Marion's Sorting until the morning – Hogwarts was a bit over four hundred miles from London as the crow flies, and even if one of the children wrote right after dinner, accounting for Marion's owl being about twice as fast as a muggle owl could fly, they still wouldn't receive the letter until breakfast time. The children all had communication mirrors, but those were reserved for emergencies and pre-arranged times on the weekend. It was more contact than she'd had, going off as a muggleborn to Hogwarts, but it still wasn't enough. Her baby was at school. When Rosalind had entered Hogwarts, she had consoled herself that she at least had Marion still home. Now all the children were off to school, or university, gone except for Christmas, Easter, and summer.

She lit the fire under the kettle. Right now what she needed was some tea. She had her own theories about which house her younger daughter would end up in, and no matter what, she would have friends. Their fairly small social circle had produced children that would be the pride of all the Founders. Unlike when she was a student, it wasn't be a death sentence for a publically Light-sided halfblood to be Slytherin, and in fact Dean and Tracey's son Julian was thriving as a Snake. Though if anything, her brash little girl would be a Gryffindor, or perhaps demand to be in Hufflepuff with her twin cousins – the three had long been inseparable. In fact, it was quite a crop of youngsters entering Hogwarts this fall. Neville and Padma's girls, Seamus and Daphne's younger son, Dennis and Rose's older boy.

The kettle whistled, and she poured boiling water into the teapot. The routine for making tea was comforting, alone in the kitchen except for Crookshanks sprawled on the table. Her part-kneazle was glad to have the house once again as his own kingdom, with Jane's kneazle Wenlock and Rosalind's Stephen gone to Hogwarts until Christmas. There was the household owl, Leopoldine, as well as Fleur's raven messenger bird, Clarisse, but they tended to stay up in the rooftop owlry, and Crookshanks had only every gotten along well with the late Hedwig as far as birds went. She let the tea steep, absently petting her cat.

This house had been her home since she was eighteen. Well, there was a bit of running around in a tent and saving the world for a while, and a slightly-delayed seventh year of Hogwarts, but she moved in at eighteen and never really thought to leave. She and Fleur talked about it, once, and decided that being with family was more important, simpler, happier. And she has been grateful for this large, sprawling, noisy house full of children and her brother and sister-in-law. And her wife. God. When she planned her life at fifteen, she mostly based it on keeping Harry alive until Voldemort was dead, and then perhaps a career at the Ministry, changing laws and making the magical world of Britain a more just and fair place. There hadn't been a single thought of the blond Triwizard champion she had barely met, had assumed the haughty French woman would go back to Beauxbatons and they'd never meet again. Hadn't had a single thought about a spouse or children really at all, never thinking she had a chance for that kind of happiness. She had her best friends, and that was enough for her, the lonely girl who only had her books before a troll in a bathroom.

Her quiet life was as a scholar, a mostly stay-at-home mum and occasional lecturer whose bookshelves were a mix of thick texts and medieval vellum scrolls and the latest adventures of _Timmy the Hippogriff._ That's not how she planned it, though the children were painstakingly planned, worked for, loved and cherished. The group of friends and families based around 12 Grimmauld Place were quietly running the revolution behind the scenes. Laws were changing, led by Susan Bones in the Wizengamot. Ideas were changing, spearheaded by the educational reforms McGonagall had begun to implement at Hogwarts and Luna's progressive take on the news in the Quibbler. She had never thought she'd be writing the books replacing _A History of Magic_ in classes at her alma mater. Had never thought she'd see her children off on the Hogwarts Express – perhaps thought as a favorite aunt she might join Harry there to see her niece and nephews off, but never as a parent herself. Who would want her? Who would love her enough to have children with her? Even at the time she hadn't thought her ill-advised attempt at a relationship with Ron Weasley would go anywhere.

She sighed again, pouring and fixing her tea, curling her hands around the warm mug. Both her daughters had inherited her curly, untamable hair, though the color was closer to Fleur's. Rosalind had her dark brown eyes, and Marion the endless blue that she lost her heart to at nineteen when Fleur cornered her in the library and kissed her. Both had Fleur's effortless grace and her rampant bibliophilia, and their intelligence could be attributed to a combination of their very smart mothers. She looked at her children with wonder every day. And now they were both off to Hogwarts, where she had almost died every year she attended, except the last, after the war.

Hermione heard the Floo activate, and the subtle noise of someone arriving. She didn't rise or worry, Grimmauld Place was far too well-warded for anyone not on their limited access list to make it into the house without permission. Instead, she summoned a second mug, preparing Fleur's tea just as she liked it. Her wife lumbered into the kitchen, visibly exhausted, her robes filthy and in disarray, wearing a different set of scrubs compared to what she'd had on as she left that morning. Without a word, she fell into the seat next to Hermione, fingers automatically curling around the steaming mug sitting in front of her.

"Did the girls get on the train in time?" Fleur murmured. She knew how much their daughters' tendency towards running late bothered her wife. She'd successfully curbed the habit in herself, mostly, over the years, but their children hadn't.

"Yes. Harry helped, but I still had to levitate Stephen into her carrier," Hermione replied. She patted Fleur on a slightly scorched shoulder, and crossed over to the icebox. Pulling out the food she'd brought home, she drew her wand and muttered a quick heating charm over the opened container. "Here, we went out for Indian afterwards. Oh, and Teddy is going to send over his recital schedule later this week, once it's finalized. He's playing the flute more in his jazz ensemble this semester." After she'd handed the takeout container and a fork to her wife, she turned back to fetch the lassi.

"He's happier when he's playing the flute. Thank you," Fleur said, digging into her meal. Between bites and proper chewing, she said, "One of the new keepers was incredibly stupid. He went too close to a nesting mother, and was burnt inside the enclosure. The dragon was so enraged no one could really get close enough to levitate him out, and they were worried the levitation might cause more damage, especially as the nest is in a hollow. Not everyone is strong enough to do it over the distance required." She snorted, both herself, her wife, Harry, Luna, and at least a couple of their other friends could have performed the levitation, but they were the exceptions – wizards and witches who were naturally strong magically, and had also worked hard to develop the magical "muscle" to do such a thing. "I ended up on a borrowed Nimbus levitating him out of there before I could even begin to treat him. I swear! Ever since Hagrid retired from teaching, the quality of Care students out of Hogwarts has been abysmal!" She shook her head, plowing back into her meal. "I had to regrow about half his skin, and there's still that risk of infection with magically produced skin grafts. Remind me to talk to Padma about it. She has to put more focus on her salve to avoid infection in grafts. It doesn't seem like a large problem, normally, but when I get a case like this, it truly does become a key to proper treatment."

"You should have been in Hagrid's classes the first few years he was teaching. And I chatted with Padma at the station. She's hitting a wall with her stem cell potion and might want the distraction so she doesn't go mad trying too hard," Hermione replied, leaning her head gently against Fleur's shoulder. "I can owl her tomorrow if you like."

"She'll try to rope you into helping, you know," Fleur said, smiling.

"Oh, I know. You'd think she has enough help already between Neville and Hannah."

"But you're the only one who has the muggle background and the free time to help. They like it when you're there to translate the medical journals."

Hermione grinned, "I know. She only took the basic science classes in uni. I keep offering to put in a good word at Oxford so they can audit some more advanced ones, but no one has the time. Instead, they have me, who hasn't taken a relevant course in years, and it never was a major interest. I don't see how I'm the best source."

"My genius," Fleur murmured, beaming and stealing a kiss after taking a long sip of lassi.

"Mmmm… you taste like mangoes," her wife sighed as they separated. She slid an arm around Fleur's waist, noting the tattered condition of the robe and scrubs. "How close did you get while doing that levitation, anyway? And what happened to your scrubs that you needed a new set?"

Fleur frowned, "The burns were bad enough, but he also got a claw for his idiocy. He bled all over my scrubs. And yes, the dragon did scorch me a little. I was on an older Nimbus, and the response wasn't what I'm used to."

"You need to start keeping your broom with your kit," Hermione groaned. "You use one often enough!" Almost thirty years since she had first sat on a broom, and she still hated flying.

Fleur shook her head, "No, I need to get one of the shrinkable models so it's easier to strap on my bag. I'll have Harry look into it for me. Shrinking charms don't always react well to standard models."

"He just got a new racing prototype to try last week; if he puts out the word he wants a shrinkable broom you know they'll design one for him."

Fleur giggled tiredly, "What's the fun of having a brother in law with that kind of pull if I don't abuse it once in awhile? Besides, it'll sell, just not in the demographics they expect."

Hermione sighed, "I know." She ran a gentle hand through Fleur's hair, "Why don't we go upstairs and get you cleaned up? I'll draw you a bath."

The blonde moaned and nodded. "A bath sounds heavenly, mon amour." She moved slowly to her feet, accepting the supportive arm Hermione offered. "I am too young to feel this tired."

"You outflew a dragon today. Harry did that at fourteen, didn't have to spend the rest of the day healing a wounded man, and he still slept for sixteen hours afterwards," Hermione pointed out. "Besides, you were up late last night," she added, a slight smirk on her face.

Fleur grinned widely. "Yes, that's true. So it is your fault that I'm this exhausted."

"I can't say that I'm sorry for that."

"I know," Fleur leant down to kiss the woman she'd been in love with for twenty-one years. "Nor am I."

Together they climbed the stairs to their bedroom, arms around one other.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

A/N: Yes, I know that corn snakes are native to the US. But a couple of British beginner snake pages recommended them as a good starter snake. So I will have to assume they're fairly available as a pet in the UK.


	2. Find Me Somebody to Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two old friends talk about love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N** : Chapter title is from a Queen lyric. Sorry for the delay in getting this out; Grey's has eaten my fic-writing brain since the season premiere.

**Summer 1999**

Hermione sat down on Harry’s bed, watching him pace his room.

“You were never this supportive when I tried to go out with Cho, or Ginny,” he said, almost accusingly. “Why do you like Luna so much more? You used to think she was mad!”

Hermione nodded, “You’re right, about both things. And I was wrong about Luna. She’s just brilliant in such an unorthodox way that it put me off until I really got to know her. And now I love her, and I think she’s perfect for you.” She sighed, willing the courage to say what she wanted, “I didn’t like Cho. I tried to be supportive, and I was to a certain extent, but really, she wasn’t any good for you. She was still grieving for Cedric, and wanted you for all the wrong reasons. And besides Quidditch, you had next to nothing in common. Ginny was sort of my friend, but she also wanted you for all the reasons that had nothing to do with you as a person. She never got over that Boy Who Lived thing, never saw just Harry instead of all the glamour of your name. If Ginny had had her way, you two would have married right out of school, popped out a handful of kids, you would work as an Auror, being her knight in shining armor still, and I would have been fobbed off on Ron. Years in the future we would have run into each other at the platform to drop off our kids for the Express, and never spoken a word. I would scold Ron for something and he’d chat with you, but we would never speak. She didn’t like how close we are. She didn’t like that I know you better than she ever could. She would have taken away my best friend and not thought anything of it. You were happy, you liked her, so I didn’t say anything. I hoped you’d figure it out on your own that it was just hormones and familiarity.”

She breathed deeply, looking into Harry’s wide green eyes, “But Luna? Luna loves her friends, and loves that her friends are close to each other. She would never be suspicious, never begrudge that the two of us have shared so much. She would never worry about the fact that another woman is right now sitting on your bed, because she knows that there’s nothing like that between us. We love each other, but, honestly, you’re my brother. That’s incredibly important to both of us, and she will never resent it. I know she loves the real Harry Potter, the boy who befriended her when no one else would, when the whole world called him a liar, who is cranky in the morning and makes the best eggs and can never comb his hair properly. So yes, when I see that she’s someone worthy of you, and that you’re worthy of her, I’m going to do my best to make sure you aren’t stupid about it.” 

He grinned. “How can I be, when I’ve got the most brilliant witch in the world watching my back?”

Hermione blushed. “Harry! Rule one, you should say things like that about Luna, not me!”

“Well, actually she said it first, when she was looking over the ward scheme for the house. I think you’d stepped out to use the bathroom. But duly noted. So now that we’ve straightened out how Luna is amazing and I should definitely go out with her, shall we talk about you?” His eyes danced, mischievous and light-hearted. When she saw him like this, she thought maybe this was how he would be if there had never been a Voldemort, or the Dursleys, or a meddling old coot in his tower.

“Talk about what?” she was genuinely confused. He very well knew that she hadn’t been on anything approaching a date since last summer, with Ron.

“Well, I was looking for my green hoodie the other day, and found it in your room. Covering a little pile of books. Let’s see, there was,” with that he pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket and read, “Passions Between Women: British Lesbian Culture 1668-1801, Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit, The Well of Loneliness, Sappho and the Virgin Mary, Same Sex Unions in Pre-Modern Europe.” He looked at his best friend, “I sense a theme, and if you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

For a moment, it seemed like Hermione’s face couldn’t decide whether to pale or blush. So she dropped her face into her hands. “Harry, please, not now.” She lifted her eyes and glared, “And what were you doing looking through my things, anyway?”

The glare wasn’t real, they had lived in each other’s back pockets since they were children. Most of Harry’s good clothes between the ages of eleven and seventeen were birthday or Christmas gifts from the Grangers. The first sweatshirt that Harry could remember fitting decently was an older one of Hermione’s she had given him one cold fall day in first year when he shivered at breakfast. To this day he was the only person Hermione knew who would get teary-eyed with happiness over new socks and underwear under the Christmas tree. As they’d lived together in a tent for a year, their jumpers and sweatshirts had become almost communal given how Harry was a small man and Hermione bought her outer clothes a size or two larger than she needed.

“Like I said, I was looking for  _my_  hoodie. But that’s a detail. Hermione, I don’t understand people, I admit that. But I do know you. And I’ve seen how you look at her. She could be so good for you.” He sat down next to her, prying one hand away from her face and squeezing it. “We both know how the Wizarding world is, that it wouldn’t be easy, but the ones who’d reject you for this? They probably already do because you’re muggleborn. And have you seen the way she looks at you? Don’t dance around this for too long. You deserve to be happy.”

Hermione lowered her free hand, intertwining it with the mess of fingers and palms between them. She met his gaze head-on. “So do you, Harry. So do you.”


	3. Where My Heart Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fleur: Her thoughts kept returning to Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from a Simon & Garfunkel lyric.

  
  
**Late August, 1999**  
  
Fleur slipped into bed. The night was warm, with a slight breeze to relieve the worst of the stickiness. Cooling charms were a possibility, but she hated to use them unnecessarily - she always shivered, like she did under muggle air conditioning. Or perhaps she was just bad at them. She was more attuned to fire and air, heat - not the cold, and knew that well. Her nightmares sometimes still featured the bone-deep chill of the Black Lake during the Triwizard. Hermione's cooling charms, on the other hand, were perfect, chilled earth and refreshing water. Not that magical prowess was all elemental affinity - Hermione's talent with flames proved that - but it did help.   
  
Instead, Fleur relied on thin sheets and a bewitched muggle fan Hermione had found at a charity shop. Not that the fan had been bewitched before Hermione had gotten her hands on it, but it had been a successful experiment, though not one to be repeated outside the house, as the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department was now headed by Percy Weasley, who still had a rather large stick up his arse about The Rules. It did mean, however, that Fleur had a fan that wasn’t dependent on the small amount of electrical power they had available in the house, generally allocated only for the muggle radio they used to listen to the BBC or Harry's rice cooker, and that she did not have to apply charms which needed refreshing halfway through the night. But in any case, the room was just comfortable enough for sleep, even if it would not come to her. Mostly because of Hermione. Her thoughts kept returning to Hermione.  
  
Everyone in their small social circle knew the two had not started out on the best foot. Fleur admittedly had been a bit of a snot, when they had first met. In a strange country, surrounded by those who preferred to stare at the daughter of the veela, in a nation where her rights were curtailed because of her ancestry, she was defensive and haughty. And she had not performed well in the Tournament at all. Though if the veela student of a half-giant could be properly marked in a British-run competition, she would eat her stupid blue hat. Hermione Granger, meanwhile, spent the tournament desperately trying to keep her best friend alive and dealing with the idiot they had considered their other best friend at the time.   
  
Then had come the war, which had thrown them back together. Her friendship with Bill had by necessity changed into a false marriage to protect them both - an old pureblood family would not be well treated if it was known their heir was a homosexual and she as a homosexual and a veela and French would be either dead or deported. They had told no one in Britain. Bill knew his mother would not accept him, so Fleur's family took him in as their own, as they had her when she had come out at sixteen. The Delacours had tried to convince them to leave England, to fight from France if they had to fight at all, but they both had people to fight for - Bill had his entire family, Fleur had the memory of Cedric Diggory and the friends she and Bill had made in the small, frightened, secretive gay community of magical Britain. If they had to fight in France, it would be too late for Britain. The Delacours had asked, desperate, why they wanted to fight for a country that would sooner spit on either of them, Voldemort or not. Neither of them could really answer that.  
  
The end of the war had been a relief. Within six months, Kingsley Shacklebolt had used royal decree from the Queen Herself to throw out just about every ridiculous law on the books, and started creating a legal code from almost-scratch, borrowing heavily from muggle law with help from several squib and muggleborn solicitors. By the time the laws were in place to file for divorce, she and Bill had done so. He had stayed at Shell Cottage, and would unless his family threw him out and his aunt claimed back the land. She had moved into Grimmauld, invited by Harry after he had heard of the divorce and the reasons thereof. She still remembered the conversation.  
  
 _“It’s odd, but it’d be a favor to me if you’d move in. I know you need a place, and we’ve more than enough room. It’s just Hermione, Luna, and I right now, so you know everyone,” he said, shuffling in his seat in front of her. They’d met at a small muggle pub on Charing Cross Road._  
  
“I don’t want to cause a problem between yourself and the Weasleys, Harry.” She was confused. She knew Harry liked and respected her – the feeling was mutual, and they had formed a tentative friendship between the Triwizard and his time at Shell Cottage. But she also knew how much the Weasleys meant to him, and the vast majority were not pleased with her or Bill right now.  
  
He shrugged, “That’s their problem. They were never quiet about how they felt about you, and it’s my turn to not be quiet about how I feel about how they’ve treated you. You’ve done so much, for the War, for Bill, for Luna, for Hermione, for me, it means a lot. Besides, things with Ginny, they’re bad anyway right now. If this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back, so be it. Ron and I haven’t talked in months, after I took Hermione’s side when they ended whatever it was they had. Damage is done, and you still need a home.”  
  
She peered at him, still confused, “How is this a favor then? As a test for the Weasleys?”  
  
He blushed. “It’s silly. But no, not a test. When I was little, I could hear my uncle’s rants from my cupboard.” Fleur’s eyes widened at “cupboard” but she remained silent. “And he used to rant about ‘homos’ all the time. Hates them, a lot. I was six or seven the first time I remember hearing about it. I had no idea what a ‘homo’ was. I looked it up in a dictionary at school, the one the older students could use, a regular Oxford. I didn’t understand why he hated them. So I would sneak the papers from the dustbin sometimes, trying to understand – he was ranting about something he’d seen on the news, or read, I’m not sure. One day there was this letter to the editor, talking about how homosexuals just wanted to be free to love each other. And I decided right then that I liked ‘homos,’ because I wanted to be free to be loved too. I saw other letters to the editor in that paper, ones that were full on nasty, and sounded like my uncle’s rants. I decided, if I could help someone avoid that kind of hate, I would. Didn’t have much of an opportunity back in Little Whinging, and no one was out at Hogwarts, but now I can, and it’s even better that you’re a friend anyway.”  
  
Fleur looked at him for a long moment. She needed a home, Harry wanted to provide one, and she did like all his roommates. Luna was incredibly sweet, if a bit odd as the Lovegoods tended to be. She’d actually met the girl a year prior to her wedding, when Luna’s uncle and his partner had brought her along to London’s pride celebration, meeting up with herself and Bill and a few others. Luna had kept quiet when she attended the wedding, knowing from long experience what her uncle and his partner had faced all their lives, knowing that Bill and Fleur’s safety, perhaps their very ability to survive the war, depended on everyone believing their platonic love was romantic. She and her father had been publishing coded messages for gay wizards and witches in the Quibbler for years, ever since Phillip Lovegood had fallen in love with Timothy Roberts. Hermione was perhaps the most brilliant person Fleur had ever met, and was also equipped with a large social conscience and a hatred of intolerance in any form, having encountered quite a lot of it herself. And Harry was perhaps the gentlest and kindest man she knew besides Bill. Perhaps even gentler and kinder than her ex-husband and best friend, despite his defeat of Voldemort and ability to fight.   
  
“Of course, Harry, I would be glad to live with you. I can’t offer much in the way of rent, but I can cook,” she finally decided, eyes locking on his.   
  
“Oh, no rent.” He waved his hand, “No need for that. We just swap off chores. And it’s perfect that you cook – you’re quite good, and I like to do it as well, but Hermione is hopeless and Luna makes the oddest things sometimes – I think she changes recipes halfway through. Kreacher does most of the cleaning and whatnot, but he’s not the best at laundry, so Luna does that, and Hermione does the shopping that Kreacher can’t. We’ve got most of the bedrooms really cleaned out, you’ll have a choice, but you’ll have to find some furniture. All the stuff that was there we binned. Unless you really like a snake motif, it’s for the best.”  
  
She smiled at him, “No, it’s not my idea of good decorating. When can I stop by to look at a room?”  
  
“Tomorrow? I’ve got some errands today that I can’t put off, and I’ll need to be home to let you into the wards for the first time. If you have any ideas for improving them, let me know. Hermione’s a genius, and her wards are excellent, even Andi said so, but we’ve been layering and there’s always room for more. The wardstone is amazing.”  
  
“That would be fine. I did not know you took Ancient Runes.”  
  
“Oh, I didn’t. But Hermione and Luna have been tutoring me. They say if I’m in charge of wards I should know what I’m doing. And they’re right,” he grinned, his face boyish in that moment. “Bill’s welcome to visit, and we’d like his advice. Hermione says what you two did with Shell Cottage was brill.” The grin slipped from his face a little, “And if he needs a place, let him know he’s got it.”  
  
She smiled, her eyes lighting up. Harry Potter was a very good man, “Thank you Harry.”  
  
He checked his watch absently, “Oh, damn. I have to go. Can I meet you outside Gringotts tomorrow at one? Best for me to Apparate you there and then key you through the wards.”  
  
“Of course. I’ll see you then.”  
  
“Great! Till then,” he stood up, and squeezed her shoulder fondly. “Stupid appointments.” Laying a few pounds on the table to cover their drinks, he stood, and walked off towards Diagon.   
  
She’d moved in two days later, bringing her bed from Shell Cottage, her clothes, books and little else. There was a simple, refinished wardrobe in the room, and Hermione had provided a set of shelves from a charity shop nearby after she saw the large pile of books on the floor. She’d gone out with the household to the local stores in search of a bedside table, and other necessities, over the next few weeks, slowly fitting into the routine they had made. They were good people, good friends, and she loved living at Grimmauld. She hung pictures in her room, and then, as they redecorated, some of her own graced the walls of the drawing room. She cooked a few times a week, went to the muggle markets with Hermione or Harry as a guide, and learned to use Harry’s prized electric rice cooker.  
  
It was a quiet life for the four of them, despite their fame in the small, insular world of magical Britain. Harry concentrated on helping to raise his godson, as some days Andromeda was not terribly functional due to a combination of grief and long-term spell damage from the war. Luna and Hermione were attending Oxford. And she had signed up for a fast paced course in Healing at St Winefride's, with a hope of specializing in midwifery. She was content in a way she had only dreamed of during the worst days of the war. They all had bad days, all had nightmares, but in their little household, it was understood and dealt with gently, affectionately.  
  
The night was quiet as her thoughts labored onward, a single candle lit on her bedside table. She was normally asleep at this hour, but the room was still too warm for comfort and her bed was emptier than it had been the last few nights. Strange, how she could get used to a bed partner so quickly, and miss her so much.  
  
A gentle knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. “Yes,” she called softly. “Come in.”  
  
A messy head of brown hair poked into the room. “Why are you still awake?” scolded Hermione lightly, slipping fully inside and shutting the door behind her.  
  
Fleur grinned, “Because you just knocked, of course.”  
  
Hermione huffed. “Of course,” she echoed, kicking off her shoes and grabbing her nightclothes. “Be right back.” She went into the attached bath, closing the door behind her. Fleur heard the sounds of Hermione’s nightly routine – a long session of teeth brushing, washing of the face, use of the toilet - and settled back into the bed. Within a few minutes, the door opened, and Hermione stepped back into the room, pajama shorts and loose tank top on instead of her day clothes. Hermione moved her wand through the precise movements of a long-lasting cooling charm which washed through the room quickly thanks to the fan. “That’s better. You’re rather hot-blooded,” she smiled.  
  
“Me? Well, at least I’m not a block of ice like someone I could mention.” Fleur laughed at the slight blush on Hermione’s cheeks.  
  
“We should get some sleep,” Hermione replied, sliding into bed next to Fleur, and blowing out the candle. Darkness descended, a slice of moonlight coming through the open window. For a moment, it was two bodies in one bed, touching side to side, together but not. Then Fleur sighed, and pulled Hermione’s back to her chest, wrapping her arms around the smaller woman, and breathing into a mass of bushy brown hair tied back in a single plait.  
  
“That’s better,” she breathed, reveling in the feel of Hermione in her arms. Their hands intertwined over the other woman’s stomach, and Fleur could kiss her neck where the braid left it bare. They hadn’t been together long at all, and while they had been sharing a bed for a couple of weeks they had yet to move beyond kissing and cuddling. Despite their relatively chaste actions, passion sizzled between them when they let it loose. And the back of Hermione’s neck was most certainly a way to encourage that. But she – they – weren’t read for that step, yet. Sighing, Fleur moved closer to her Hermione, and settled in for the night. Talking could come with the morning, maybe. Until then, she’d enjoy what she had, whatever it was.  
  
Sleep found her easily then, snuggled against Hermione.

 


	4. In Chains of History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The August 2009 issue of the Quibbler features an interview with Hermione regarding her new book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of an experiment as a chapter and I'm curious to see how you the readers react to it. And yes, I fall in the "Dumbledore manipulated people like chess pieces" camp. If you don't like that, you don't have to read further. Title from a Jethro Tull lyric.

The Quibbler: August 2009

**Revision of History of Magic Course at Hogwarts Adds New Text By War Heroine!**

_Article and Interview by Tracey Davis_

History of Magic, the course long used as a nap time by Hogwarts students due to the drone of a ghostly instructor, has since the War been deeply overhauled by Headmistress McGonagall, the Hogwarts Board, and other concerned parties. The ghost of Cuthbert Binns (1675-1805) was, starting with the 1998-1999 year, replaced by living professor Reginald Smith. However, the overhaul did not stop with a professor who actually cared if his students slept through the lecture. Long in coming, Hermione Delacour-Granger has been working with Headmistress McGonagall, amongst others, on a new book specifically designed for the Hogwarts history curriculum, which she has been instrumental in revising. The new release is first in a series of books that will be published over the next decade as the revisions to the course are reflected in updated OWL and NEWT tests as well as the requirement for students to take all seven years of history, instead of being able to drop the course post-OWL as was previously allowed.

Headmistress McGonagall had this to say, "I long fought against the ability of students to stop taking History classes. A student without a firm grasp of our own history is simply not prepared to understand their place in magical society, nor to truly function as a citizen of Magical Britain. An Acceptable or better on both the OWL and NEWT exams is now required for graduation from Hogwarts. While Bagshot's  _A History of Magic_  has its place as a groundbreaking work, it no longer fully meets the needs of our students. As a result, I commissioned Ms. Delacour-Granger to produce a new text for the course. Her Masteries in Magical and Muggle History, as well as her position as a history-maker herself, makes her best suited for this revision."

The new text,  _Magical Britain in the 20_ _th_ _Century_ , starts where Bagshot's seminal text leaves off. Focusing on the rise and fall of Grindelwald as well as the two Voldemort Wars, this book is unusual in that it includes first-person interviews with many of the major and minor figures of the times, including the first ghost ever to be interviewed for a school text. It also includes what muggles call a timeline – a chronological graphic display of historical events, as well as information on how the Grindelwald War was related to the muggle Second World War, the Nazi Movement, and the Holocaust (see sidebar).

I spoke with Ms Delacour-Granger at her home in London.

 **TD** : Tell me what you remember about the History of Magic course at Hogwarts.

 **HDG** : I remember my friends sleeping through it. (laughs) I think I was the only Gryffindor who didn't fall asleep regularly. The only time I recall Professor Binns actually answering a question was when I asked about the Chamber of Secrets during my second year.

 **TD** : In regards to that, how did you distance yourself enough to write about events you yourself participated in?

 **HDG** : Well, it was a challenge. Especially as I had to sit down with various friends and relatives to interview them about different events. But a muggle proverb says that history is written by the victors, so… I did put a disclaimer in the text stating that yes, I was that Hermione Granger, and that yes I was writing about things I did. It helped that I used several different people as pre-readers.

 **TD** : So who had read this book prior to publication?

 **HDG** : (laughs) I used Harry [Potter] as my primary pre-reader. He always, always fell asleep during Binns' lectures unless I poked him awake. And while he does like history, to some extent, he was never fond of Bagshot's book. I think he read the first few chapters prior to the start of first year and rarely cracked it open after that unless it involved an essay or test. I figured that if I could keep him engaged in the text, it would work for any student. Luna [Lovegood-Potter] read it as well, and Fleur [Delacour-Granger], and I had Andromeda Tonks look it over. It depended on the chapters. The ones regarding the Second War I passed around quite a bit amongst my friends, especially as many of them were interviewed for that section. I interviewed the entire surviving Defense Association and Order of the Phoenix that would let me, and several of them served as pre-readers for those chapters detailing the War. In fact, you read a few chapters.

 **TD** : I did. I've read several of the other histories of the War and you're the only one to interview or discuss any Slytherin involvement that wasn't on the side of the Death Eaters.

 **HDG** : I've noticed that. I think it's a result of long-held prejudice. Several Slytherins at Hogwarts were key components of the Defense Association's work there. You and Daphne [Finnegan, nee Greengrass] were instrumental in distracting the Carrows and getting supplies to those who were trapped in the Room of Requirement. Some of the current histories say that every single Slytherin was escorted from the Great Hall and that none fought on the side of the Light during the Battle. I know many were sent away, we can't deny the number of Death Eaters who came from Slytherin house, but I did see quite a few current and former Slytherins fighting with me. Yourself, Daphne, her sister Astoria snuck back with Colin [Creevey, deceased], of course Professor Slughorn was there, and several of the younger Slytherins you and Daphne had protected and tutored returned to help with the wounded afterwards. Their knowledge of healing charms was life-saving.

 **TD** : Does your book discuss that anti-Slytherin prejudice?

 **HDG** : Yes, I think it's necessary in understanding the rise of Tom Riddle and his followers. There's an entire chapter devoted to it. I know that  _Hogwarts: A History_ states that Salazar Slytherin left the school after a disagreement over blood purity, but that's simply not supported by any of the source material from the period or soon afterwards. Slytherin only becomes associated with blood purity in the fourteenth century, during the worst of the witch burnings. Before that, it's only mentioned that he left after the death of his daughter in childbirth.

I know that the books I read prior to starting Hogwarts painted Slytherin as a dark house, a place of prejudice. And I know Harry was told, I think it was said, that there wasn't a wizard that didn't go bad that wasn't a Slytherin. I know the Muggleborn Information Packet said that a muggleborn had not been Sorted into that house in four hundred years. Apparently none of us are cunning enough. (laughs)

 **TD** : There's something interesting about someone's Sorting in regards to Slytherin house that you include in the book.

 **HDG** : I knew you would bring that up. While what's said under the Sorting Hat is generally considered fairly private, I don't think it's uncommon knowledge amongst my circle of friends that I was almost Sorted into Ravenclaw. What is rather uncommon knowledge, or was before today, is that Harry Potter was almost put into Slytherin House. Now, ignoring how dangerous that would have been to his health to be in the same dorm as the children of many Death Eaters who escaped prison after the First War, it would have been a good place for him, especially if Snape hadn't been his Head of House.

 **TD** : Then why wasn't he Sorted Slytherin?

 **HDG** : I think a simple answer is he was groomed to be in Gryffindor. And Draco Malfoy helped. Let's put it this way: Albus Dumbledore had Plans for Harry. He knew that a Slytherin Boy Who Lived would be very unsuitable for those plans. So he sent Hagrid to bring Harry to Diagon Alley. No one will say that Hagrid hasn't a big heart, but after he was framed by Tom Riddle and expelled, he developed a grudge against Slytherin as a whole. It didn't help that he was often a target for bullying and pranks by many Slytherins over the years as a halfblood. So he passed on that bit of grudge to Harry when he was explaining the Hogwarts Houses. And Harry ran into Draco Malfoy both in Diagon Alley and on the Express. Anyone who knew Malfoy will remember how he couldn't open his mouth without insulting someone. When Malfoy said he was sure to be in Slytherin, that was also off-putting to Harry. He hates bullies, and Malfoy was an obnoxious one. One of the few things Harry knew about his mother back then was that she was a muggleborn. Anyone insulting her or her heritage was bound to anger him. The Hat offered both Slytherin and Gryffindor as options. Harry has quite a lot of cunning, and a thirst to prove himself. If it had been a different time, he would have done well there. But sharing a dorm with Malfoy and what he thought would be a bunch of Dark Wizards wasn't what he wanted, so he begged for Gryffindor.

 **TD** : There but for the stupidity of Draco Malfoy, we would have had the youngest Seeker in a century.

 **HDG** : (laughs) Yes. Exactly. Though even if it meant the Quidditch Cup, I cannot see Snape putting aside his hatred of anyone named Potter long enough to buy Harry a broom as McGonagall did.

 **TD** : True enough! Even the older Slytherins during my time there were surprised at the vitriol he spewed at Potter. Now, you interviewed most of the DA and the Order. Who else did you talk to?

 **HDG** : Well, for the chapters on the Triwizard Tournament and the resurrection of Tom Riddle, I talked to all three surviving champions. Of course, it helps that I live with two of them and went to the Yule Ball with the third. I also talked to Amos and Polly Diggory. They provided me with copies of Cedric's letters and his journal for that year and pointed me to a few of his surviving friends. Overall, I interviewed the staff of Hogwarts quite a lot and the Ministry workers who survived the Wars. And the ghosts. This book is only the first part of my project. Eventually I'll finish the other texts for History Of Magic and our Hogwarts ghosts are a wonderful source for the earlier years of Magical Britain. Even if they didn't leave the castle, they heard things and could read the paper over students' shoulders. The only ghost I interviewed whose words made it into this book was Moaning Myrtle.

 **TD** : And why her? I mean, she spends all her time in the girls' bathroom.

 **HDG** : Actually, she does leave the bathroom at times. I know Harry encountered her in the Prefects Bath and the Black Lake during the Triwizard. But she is the first known victim of Tom Riddle. She was killed by the basilisk when he released it in 1943. It was for her death that Hagrid was framed and expelled.

 **TD** : As someone who was a classmate of yours, I have known you since you entered the magical world. I've sat near you in classes, and we did several Ancient Runes projects together from third year onwards. However, reading the chapters regarding your Hogwarts experience, I realized I didn't know the first thing about what you went through. How did it feel to actually talk about what had happened during your Hogwarts years?

 **HDG** : Well, Harry and I have always been fairly private people, so we tend to keep things to ourselves anyway, once events are over. But given how many incursions Riddle or his supporters made into Hogwarts while we were there, we both agreed that describing our six years together at Hogwarts was vitally important. In many ways, 1991 was the year the Second War started.

 **TD** : I had never realized the reason you were in the Hospital Wing for several weeks second year was that you had an accident with Polyjuice Potion. How on earth did you brew that potion at thirteen? And tell us about why you did it.

 **HDG** : I've always been a fairly deft hand at potions – surprising since I can't cook to save my life and am overall banned from the kitchen at home, except to make tea. As to why we did it – well, no one seemed to, at the time, know who the Heir of Slytherin was, who was setting about the school petrifying cats and scrawling messages on the walls. We wanted a way to question Malfoy, as he was the most vocal of the anti-muggleborn crowd. So I brewed the potion in Myrtle's bathroom, and we were prepared to turn into three of your housemates so we could question him in bodies he would talk to more openly. Unfortunately, I grabbed a cat hair instead of a human hair off of my target's robes, and Polyjuice is not designed for human-animal transformations. It took a few weeks to sort out the problem. The whole thing didn't help much either. Malfoy was rather excited about the possibility of every muggleborn in the school dying, but he hadn't a clue who it really was opening the Chamber.

 **TD** : I've talked to several other of our classmates, and no one seemed to know how many times you nearly died in school. Now that you're a mother, how do you feel about sending your children off to Hogwarts?

 **HDG** : My nephew [Theodore Lupin] is heading there in September. But overall, it's a completely different environment now, so I have no issue with it. McGonagall has changed Hogwarts for the better. The kind of bullying and abuse that ran rampant during my years there is very simply not allowed anymore. You can't go around calling someone a mudblood, or stealing all their belongings back in the dorm, or hexing them in the hallways, and expect to go unpunished. If my class was punished the way the students are now, several would have been expelled.

 **TD** : The chapters on your Hogwarts years and the early parts of the War, are they complete? Did you keep anything back?

 **HDG** : Well, personal things were of course left out. Some of the particularly gruesome details were left out – it is a book written for students, after all. And some of the Dark Magic we encountered was glossed over.

 **TD** : The infamous year in the tent, in other words? You don't mention exactly what it was you were trying to find and destroy, do you?

 **HDG** : No, I didn't. A canny reader can get enough clues to figure it out, if you have access to the right books. Any Defense Journeyman or above, or Cursebreaker, will know exactly what we were hunting down. But a Hogwarts student does not need to know how vile the magic Tom Riddle used to survive in '81 was. We say what the objects were – Founders relics, and that they were cursed and used in rituals to prolong his existence, but we don't describe how they were made or use the word for what they were. And I hate that Dumbledore made Harry swear us to secrecy. At one point we were staying with a Cursebreaker and a Journeyman Defense Master – their help would have been invaluable if only we could have asked for it! When I finally detailed that year to my wife, she had a conniption, as she was well versed in finding, identifying, and destroying the very objects three teenagers with no formal training were wandering about the countryside to find! Given how common they are in various ancient tombs, it's one of the earliest practical things taught in a modern Defense Mastery program.

 **TD** : Now for the more political questions. There will be grumblings that a muggleborn is writing the text for a magical history course. What do you say to that?

 **HDG** : I would say that that attitude is the same that led me to be tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, that led to the deaths of so many of my friends and loved ones.

 **TD** : Not pulling any punches, are you?

 **HDG** : No. Bigotry is bigotry, and goodness knows I've dealt with enough of it over the years. The attitude that anyone not pureblooded cannot be a full member of magical society is exactly what Tom Riddle was preaching, despite his own background. I know that to many I am an outsider in this society. I didn't know magic was real until I was eleven. Before that, my parents and I were obliviated if the magic I did was powerful enough to warrant a visit from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. I admit, I did not grow up within Wizarding culture. I think that was a gift – I can move comfortably within two separate societies, not something many purebloods can claim to do. And it gives me insight into both. We are not separate from muggle society, we are powerfully intertwined with it.

 **TD** : Your book is not exactly kind to Albus Dumbledore. In fact, it is downright harsh regarding many of his major decisions and actions. Especially in regards to bigotry, and muggleborns.

 **HDG** : Yes, it is. In fact, I think even Headmistress McGonagall was surprised by the severity of my critique. The Dumbledore apologists say that he was a powerful leader of the Light and that everything he did worked out for the best. Well I say that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. He may have meant the best, but his actions were unconscionable.

As Headmaster he allowed the bigotry and violence of purebloods against muggleborns and halfbloods to continue without check. Even before he had a supposedly reformed Death Eater as a Head of House, he did nothing to curb the attitudes or actions of those who eventually ended up as Death Eaters. If you look at the detention logs in the 70's through the 90's, those who were regularly punished for bullying, hexing, or attacking other students ended up in Riddle's service about eighty percent of the time – and the remaining twenty are generally revenge for or reaction to that bullying. This trend started with Dippet in the 40's and continued on until McGonagall took over. Dumbledore's constant forgiveness of students taught them that they would never be severely punished no matter what they did, and that attitude carried over into the Halls of the Wizengamot. Granted, there was a lot of bribery there as well during and after the First War, but he oversaw the entire slew of Death Eater Trials where none received the highest punishments available. And many were released with a slap on the wrist and a remonstrance to basically play nice.

I am also obviously biased given his treatment of my best friend. No child should grow up in an abusive household just because Dumbledore wanted a pliable boy desperate to escape his home life who would see the Wizarding world and Dumbledore himself as great and positive.

Even in the area of education he was abominable. Binns should have been retired by Dippet or an earlier headmaster, but Dumbledore kept him on, even as OWL and NEWT scores dropped radically in comparison to other nations' history scores. He ended the teaching of not only English and maths, but he stopped the Wizarding Cultures course that had allowed many muggleborns to successfully integrate into society. How can we avoid a societal faux pas if we don't know the first thing about the culture? Neither Harry nor I encountered basic Wizarding children's stories until I was given The Tales of Beedle the Bard at the age of seventeen, whereas that is a part of the first year Wizarding Cultures curriculum. And the Potions department under Severus Snape was the laughingstock of Europe. We won't go into the Muggle Studies program. It was a hundred years behind the times when I took the course. He never hired a muggleborn to teach it; Charity Burbage was a bright woman and cared deeply about muggle society, but she was raised magically, may she rest in peace. She didn't understand it on a very basic level and the previous instructors she learned from were even more ignorant. She simply didn't have the proper education or background to teach the course. The issue of Defense Against the Dark Arts is more subtle. There was some sort of curse or something that kept instructors from staying. However, he could have developed a standardized curriculum so our education in DADA wasn't so uneven. The only professor during my six years prior to the end of the War who followed the ICW suggested course outline was Remus Lupin.

But yes, I think Dumbledore misused a lot of his power and ability. He could have stopped Tom Riddle years before 1981. I lay the blame for a lot of deaths on his inactions. He could have properly educated his students and curbed their bullying, taught them to behave even if he couldn't change their minds. Or he could have actually punished those who attacked others. He could have not left so many of the Order of the Phoenix hanging during the first and second Wars. No protection was offered to Edgar Bones or his family, and they died. Emmaline Vance lived in a completely unwarded apartment, and she died. Let alone what he allowed to happen to the Potters, Longbottoms, and Sirius Black as part of his grand plan.

 **TD** : The chapter on Dumbledore's roles in the First and Second Wars could be considered quite explosive. Is a school textbook really the place for it?

 **HDG** : I thought about that long and hard when I was working on the text. But given how much of the world was hidden from me as a student of Hogwarts – how many lies we were told about magical society and recent history, how little of the information we needed was available to us – I think that it's best to tell the whole truth to our children, in an age-appropriate fashion.

 **TD** : It's been mentioned that this is only the first book to be released as part of the restructuring of the History of Magic curriculum. What can you tell us about the others, and when they'll be available?

 **HDG** : Yes, it is the first. Bagshot's work ends in the late 19th century, so we obviously needed a text that would cover modern Britain. The other books are in progress, and have been for awhile – parts of them are based on research I did for my mastery. I actually completed most of the work for this book while writing my thesis. I simply had to adapt it into a textbook format after we finished the revisions to the curriculum. The next books will probably be early magical history – Greece and Egypt and China, the Celts and Vikings, and whatnot. You can't understand Magical Britain if you don't place it in context of how other magical and non-magical societies were advancing or how those societies influenced ours. And I don't know how long it will take for the next book to be released. We had been planning to publish them over the next ten years, but I've got a two year old and a newborn underfoot at home, not to mention my godson, niece and nephews. Right now I'm up to my neck in dirty nappies.

 **TD** : Last questions: I haven't seen you since Marion was born last month. How is she? And how is Rosalind at being a big sister?

 **HDG** : Finally, the important questions! (laughs) Marion is perfect. Fairly quiet, for a newborn, but she hasn't started sleeping through the night yet, so one of us is up pretty regularly. Rosie is enthralled. She wasn't old enough to really understand when her twin cousins were born, and I doubt she'll remember this when she's older, but she's fascinated. She hasn't quite gotten that her maman's big belly produced her little sister. The sibling rivalry has yet to hit, so we're all happy as clams. I'll be even happier when we get a full night's rest.

 _The Quibbler thanks Hermione Delacour-Granger for taking the time for her interview. As the entire staff of this magazine was interviewed for her book, we can't offer a completely unbiased review, but we do highly suggest that our readers peruse_ Magical Britain in the 20th Century _. It is a thoughtful and insightful look at what created the world we live in today. You can find it for sale at Flourish and Blotts, Tim's Enchantments and Rare Books, and through owl order from Cassiopeia Books, a subsidiary of Lovegood Publishing, Delphic Alley._


	5. Can They Be That Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Title from lyrics by Sister Sledge. Also, I have never been to London Pride so I’m basing the whole thing on what little I can find about the ’99 event and the many Prides I’ve been to in my state. Also, please please Britpick if you find any egregious errors. I do what I can but I am one of those horrid Yanks despite my addiction to quality tea.

 

3 July 1999

 

On the first Saturday in July, nine in the morning found Hermione Granger buried behind a stack of books in the library of Number 12, Grimmauld Place.  Her NEWTs were just barely behind her, but placement tests for university were approaching far too fast for her ordered mind.  She hadn’t formally studied maths or English or science or muggle history since she was eleven, giving them up for charms, transfiguration, and potions. 

 

She’d read, of course, skimmed review books for the GCSE’s during the summers, and the A-Levels this past year when she needed a break from NEWT studying.  If she hadn’t been in an advanced program as a child, she never would have mastered trigonometry at the age of ten.  It gave her an edge compared to the others she knew were joining her at Oxford – Luna was brilliant at all forms of zoology and biology, muggle and magical, but her knowledge of English literature outside of Shakespeare or Oscar Wilde was not even approaching acceptable.  Padma was probably as much of a potions genius as Lily Potter if not more – how she taught Neville to properly brew just about everything on the Hogwarts curriculum while trapped in the Room of Requirement was amazing beyond words – but had never taken any formal maths or science classes.  And Justin had been privately tutored in accounting theory by his family, but his understanding of business law was no where near adequate.  Except for some required courses, she would likely rarely run into her Hogwarts classmates at Oxford unless they planned to meet for lunches or studying in the library.

 

So she returned to her reading.  Queen Matilda and Elizabeth Barrett Browning.  Gower and Richard II.  A dabble of physics here and chemistry there. 

 

Until Luna, dressed in a wild swirl of color, threw herself into the chair across from Hermione.  “The nargles must have you in their grips.  You can’t study today, there are plans.”  With that, she grabbed her friend’s hand and tugged Hermione to her room, where a pair of jeans and a pastel, fitted oxford were laid out.  “Change!  Harry’s gone to fetch Teddy from Andromeda and we’re leaving when he gets back.”

 

Hermione just stared at Luna.  They’d become close in the past year and a half, since Shell Cottage really, or maybe after fighting so many battles together, but she was utterly confused.  “Leaving for where?”

 

“London Mardi Gras.  Uncle Tim and Uncle Phil are already there with Bill and Jeffrey.  We’re going to meet them at Compton Street and take the tube to Finsbury Park.”

 

Hermione continued to stare.  “I have to study.  I only have six weeks before my placement exams and you want us to take a household day trip to gay pride?”

“Yes, exactly,” came Fleur’s voice from the doorway.  The blond was wearing a loose cotton skirt that went past her knees and a lightweight long-sleeved blouse, with the bottomless and weightless knapsack they used for outings with Teddy strapped to her back.  A floppy broad-brimmed hat was in her hands, and her eyes were laughing.  “You have studied every day since coming home; you will exhaust yourself before you even take your first exam.  You’re coming with us.  You need a day in the sun away from your books.”

 

“I need sun?  You look like you’re trying to avoid it as much as possible,” Hermione commented.  She knew she was pale for this time of year, holed up in the library as she had been.

 

“Yes.  I am blonde.  And my skin burns like your toast,” Fleur grinned.  Hermione hadn’t been in the house for more than two full days last summer before Harry had banned her from the kitchen.  Sometimes he or Fleur had her help chop ingredients – after seven years in potions class she could manage that – but she wasn’t allowed near the stove without supervision unless it was to make tea, and even then they liked to keep an eye on her.

 

She looked at the books scattered on the side of her bed, more studying that she’d fallen asleep to last night.  She was tired.  Tired of studying to catch up to her muggle peers and tired of trying to outperform every pureblood at Hogwarts so she could prove once and for all that blood kept you alive and nothing more.  Hermione bowed her head.  “Fine.  Fine!”  She threw up her hands and looked at her friends, wagging a finger at Fleur, “But don’t think hanging out with us is going to find you a girlfriend!  You’re carrying the spare nappies!  That’s not sexy!”

 

Fleur dissolved into peals of laughter.  “I will have to rely on my natural charm then!” she choked out, holding her sides. 

 

“I’m sure that’ll work for you,” Hermione grinned.  “Now out!  Out!  I need to change!”

 

X-X-X-X

 

Since the War ended, Hermione had occasionally found herself in large crowds, in Wizarding areas like Diagon or Hogsmeade or even in the halls of Hogwarts.  They still made her uncomfortable, her body frequently tensed for the next attack.  The mostly muggle crowd she found lining the streets for the pride march was huge, but by leaning her back on a solid brick wall she had both a good view and felt safer.  She noticed that the rest of the group she found herself with – a mix of witches, wizards, and squibs, all queer of some sort or the family and friends thereof – did much the same.  As a group, they stood near the building she was against.  Instead of feeling smothered, they made her feel comfortable, as though she was covered by a large gay safety blanket.

 

She shouldn’t have been so surprised that this particular group of magical people could actually blend into the crowd.  Even Tim’s rainbow feather boa, for this environment, made perfect sense.  She juggled Teddy for a moment, the toddler utterly fascinated by the colorful crowd around them, the loud music and many people who paused to wave at one of the children starting to pop up more and more at gay pride events.  His godfather had left Teddy with her while he took Luna off to fetch food and drinks.  Hermione stood with the little boy cradled in her arms and they crowd-watched together, Teddy fascinated by the parade floats.

 

Fleur moved next to her, their shoulders brushing together, “Having fun?” she asked, a light laugh underlying her question.

 

“Yes, I am.  And you’re right, a bit of sunshine is good for me,” Hermione replied.  “Are you having fun?  Found a nice girl to sweep off her feet yet?”

 

Fleur raised her eyebrow, the hint of a smirk on her face and in a flirty tone said, “I believe I am talking to a nice girl.  But alas, I am not her type.”

 

Hermione’s face turned bright red.  “Fleur Isabelle!” she hissed, as Teddy giggled and turned his skin red too.

 

“Hermione Jane!” Fleur mocked lightly.  “Ah, ma chère, I am only teasing.  I would offer to find you a nice boy, but in this crowd,” she waved at a group of young men in nothing but short shorts and rainbow beads wandering down the street with their arms around each other and then to another group in Rocky Horror outfits, “I don’t think it would do you any good.”

 

Hermione giggled, “No, this won’t do much for my dating life.”  She lightly elbowed her friend, “But you should give it a chance.  You deserve someone lovely, Fleur.”

 

“Perhaps I will.  I am, after all, a young divorcée.  I still have my looks, despite my desperate and hopeless marriage!”  She grinned widely, as she often did when joking about her marriage-of-necessity to her best friend.

 

“You were quite heartbroken when the divorce went through,” Hermione laughed, remembering Fleur’s impromptu dance around Grimmauld Place to commemorate an owl from the Ministry declaring her paper marriage over.

 

“I was,” Fleur nodded solemnly, with only a single quirk of her lip to show her humor.  “Shall I take Monsieur Lupin for a moment?  Your arms must be getting tired.”

 

Hermione grinned, “Sure.  I see Harry coming back with food for me anyway.  If you don’t mind?”

 

“Of course not.”  She held out her hands for Teddy, and he went gladly to his Tante Fleur.  From the group perhaps ten feet away, a young woman called to Fleur, and with a glance at Hermione, she walked over, Teddy’s head swiveling to take in the crowd still.

 

Accepting a wrapped sandwich from her best friend with quiet thanks, Hermione bit into her meal, chewing slowly as she took in the sights and sounds of the crowd.  Teddy caught sight over her over Fleur’s shoulder, and she waved at him, grinning.  His wide smile stretched across his face, one of her knitted caps covering his forever-changing hair color.  She watched as the woman who’d called over Fleur laughed, and set a gentle hand on Fleur’s upper arm.  Her roommate grinned in response, shifting Teddy in her arms so she could make a broad gesture in their conversation.

 

Hermione felt a twist of _something_ in her gut at the other woman’s physical closeness to her friend.  Diverting her attention, she turned to Harry, who was standing next to her munching on a sandwich as well, his eyes wide and happy as he observed the crowds.  She’d seen the same look on his face when she took him on tourist trips around London – to see the sights he’d been denied as a child.  She’d even seen that look when she’d taken him shopping to replace his worn, often oversized muggle wardrobe after the war.  After a year of washing their clothes in cold creeks, both of them had needed some new things, and she’d dragged him to Marks  & Spencer.  That wonder at something so basic and simple – new clean clothes in his size – had been written across his face just like his wonder at this mass of happy - no – this mass of _gay_ muggle humanity.  She giggled lightly to herself at her play on words, letting the light amusement distract her from the twisting in her gut.

 

X-X-X-X

 

Parade over, the crowd organically followed the last of the floats to the stage area where various musical acts would be performing over the course of the day.  She mulled over the pamphlet a young man had been handing out.  “I only recognize four of these groups!” she said, displeased at her cultural ignorance.

 

“You’ve been stuck at a castle in Scotland without a radio since you were eleven.  I don’t recognize a single one of them,” Harry remarked, peering over her shoulder.  Teddy was back in his arms, and the little boy reached out to grab at her hair.  “No, Teddy, what did I say about pulling hair?”

 

“We need to update the house record collection,” she grumbled.

 

“If you can find half of today’s acts on vinyl, go ahead.  But we’re not lacking in things to listen to,” Harry shrugged.  He was rather pleased to have inherited the music collections of his parents, Remus, and Tonks.  In fact, he played various records daily, gaining an appreciation for music he’d never had before, locked in the Dursley’s cupboard.

 

“Records will make a comeback,” Hermione declared.  “And until then, I’ll have to find some stores that carry them at all.”  She glanced at Teddy, “Does he need a change?”

 

“I think so,” Harry made a face, handing him over so he could search in the pack Fleur had passed off to Hermione when she wandered off with some acquaintances.  Once he’d located the changing pad, clean nappies, wipes, and the enchanted bag they put the dirty diapers, he pulled Hermione off from the flow of people around them.  At the same moment the music started over loudspeakers, Luna danced up.

 

“Come on, Harry!” she coaxed, a wide smile on her pale features.  “Hermione and Teddy will be fine!”

 

Hermione laughed.  Even buried in her books, she had noticed her two friends getting closer.  She settled Teddy on the changing pad, and waved Harry off, “We’ll follow as soon as this young man hasn’t a stinky bum anymore.”  With a serious look to ensure Hermione was really alright with being left to change Teddy’s nappy, Harry suddenly grinned, and followed Luna into a small group dancing at the edge of the main crowd.

 

With efficient movements she had never expected to develop so young – no cousins to tend, no chances to sit the neighbor’s children, and certainly no unplanned pregnancies – Hermione changed Teddy’s nappy, tickling the little boy to distract him as she did, and stuffing the dirty nappy as well as the used wipes into the bag she’d personally enchanted to be waterproof, leakproof, and smellproof.  Returning everything to the pack and strapping it to her back, she rearranged Teddy more comfortably in her arms as he wiggled about.

 

Laughing, dancing – it all seemed so wondrous.  During the war - when she’d been cold, tired, hungry, afraid all the time - she hadn’t even been able to really remember what it was like to be free and happy.  Now the war was over, they had been victorious despite their many losses of friends, lovers, family.  She juggled the little boy in her arms as he clapped off-beat to the music – even parents.  It seemed like some horrid epic hero cycle, something from an opera or a Russian novel, the loss of the Potters and the loss of the Lupins, leaving behind their orphaned boys in epilogues to the wars they had fought.  Except that instead of the cupboard Harry had been sentenced to, Teddy was surrounded by those who loved him, would protect him and tell him the truth about his parents as he grew.  For a moment Hermione just watched her friends dance together, Luna twirling much as she had done at Fleur and Bill’s wedding, Harry waving his hands in the air like the carefree boy he’d never been.  She couldn’t spot Fleur in the crowd, but didn’t worry.  There would be no Death Eaters to mar the day, most of Riddle’s minions dead or imprisoned or lying low to avoid capture.

 

“A pretty bird like you shouldn’t have her boyfriend run off to dance with another girl,” said a voice off to her side.

 

She started, looking over at a young woman with short-cropped brown hair, in a battered oversized tee and men’s cargo shorts.  “Huh?”

 

A wide, charming grin met her confusion, “No good bloke would leave his sprog and girl behind to dance with some tart.  Maybe I can steal you away, then?”

 

Hermione laughed uncomfortably.  “He’s not my boyfriend,” she replied, unused to such overt attention from anyone.  People simply didn’t flirt with her.  Men _or_ women.  Glancing down at Teddy, who had for the moment adopted her brown eyes and had a bit of Harry’s unruly black hair peeking out from under his cap, she smiled at the boy in her arms as she tried to come up with the easiest explanation for their relationship, “And this young gentleman is my nephew.”  It wasn’t a terrible stretch of the truth – she felt like Harry was her brother, and he certainly considered Teddy his child. 

 

“So a beautiful woman like yourself might perhaps be looking for some company?” came the flirtatious response.

 

“Hermione!  There you are!”  Fleur interrupted, dashing up.  “Phil has found the most wonderful pastries.  Come, you must try!”  She laid a casual hand on Hermione’s arm and reached over to chuck Teddy gently under his chin. 

 

“Oh!  Oh, sorry,” said the woman to Fleur, backing off a step, “didn’t mean to chat up your bird.”

 

Fleur turned a confused glance at her friend, while Hermione reddened slightly.  She let out a delighted laugh.  “Ah, it is fine.  Who would not be tempted by her?”  Sliding a casual arm around her friend’s shoulders, she grinned widely.  “But we must be going, my apologies.”  Tugging Hermione along, the two of them left the disappointed woman behind.

 

A minute later, as they made their way through the crowd, Hermione burst out laughing.  “First she thought Harry was my boyfriend, two-timing me with Luna while I stood there with our son in my arms, and then, she thinks I’m with you.  Apparently I’m lucky enough to have either a handsome bloke or the most beautiful woman here!”

 

Fleur blushed prettily at the compliment, “It is not a surprise to me, eh?  Of course you would!”  She grinned with mischievous intent, “And she was not the first to think you are attempting to seduce the Boy-Who-Lived.”

 

Hermione groaned.  Ever since the end of their relationships with the youngest Weasleys, the rumors had run rampant in the Daily Prophet gossip columns about her and her best friend.  Especially once it had somehow gotten out that they were living together.  “Because of course that is what anyone would do, eh?  Didn’t the Prophet say last month that you had ‘converted’ to heterosexuality just by spending so much time in his company?  As if no woman can resist the allure of a dark lord destroyer with knobbly knees and mad hair.”

 

Fleur roared with laughter, hugging Hermione to her.  For a moment their bodies were pressed together from knees to shoulders, just little Teddy keeping them from molding into one.  “Of course!  It is a cure for all the lesbians, oui?  We shall have to spread the word!  I’m cured!  I want the boys!”  Releasing Hermione, she smirked.  “But what shall cure the men?  Perhaps the brightest witch of her age?  With untamable hair like silk?”

 

For a moment, Hermione flashed back to the war, to Shell Cottage, where she had arrived exhausted, broken, bleeding.  Fleur had carefully stripped her down to her pants, cleaned her body of dirt and broken glass, healed the wounds adorning her body as well as possible (the scratches and bruises were easy, but the word Bellatrix had carved into her skin was done with a cursed knife and Hermione still bore the scar), and then washed her hair in a large basin before dressing her in a pair of borrowed pajamas.  Between the physical wounds and the after-effects of the Cruciatus, Hermione had not been able to help at all, submitting to the gentle care silently, her mind still trying to come to terms with her experiences.  It had been the solitary occasion Fleur had really touched her hair – washing it, drying it, doing a simple plait to keep it out of her face – before she’d settled Hermione into bed and made her drink a Dreamless Sleep potion.  It had been the only time since she was a child that someone else had really cared for her so.  Her parents had, of course, but no one else.  In the midst of the horror, Fleur’s tenderness had been a balm and a blessing.

 

She shrugged herself out of her thoughts.  “I think I’ve spent enough time with Bill, Jeffrey, Tim, and Phil to disprove that theory, Fleur!”

 

“Ah, well, we shall have to continue to suffer our deviancy, then.  I shall say the affections of a beautiful woman suit me far better than some,” she tossed her free hand into the air and laughed, “some brutish man!”  Pointing to their left, she said, “Look!  That café there!  They have the most lovely pastries.  You must try them!”  She waved to their friends, clustered out front and all chewing enthusiastically.  “And perhaps a treat for young Monsieur Lupin!”

 

Hermione smiled.  With Fleur by her side and sweet little Teddy in her arms, she was ready to enjoy the rest of their day.


	6. Younger Than New Leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione muses on expanding her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One short quote from Tolkien included in the chapter. If you don't recognize the Lord of the Rings, please go run out and read and/or watch them.

**A/N:**  Title from a Joan Baez lyric.

X-X-X-X

2005

While other magical households might have made use of silencing charms when there was a crying infant, the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place vastly preferred to know what was going on within their home. Hence, one floor down from the nursery in which a squalling Jane Potter – and her parents - were suffering from colic, Hermione Granger was propped up in bed, her bedside lamp on, reading a book as the screaming continued above her. As per her wife's rule, only pleasure reading was kept next to the bed, so she was currently in the midst of the mines of Moria. For the dozenth time. Beside her, Fleur sprawled on her stomach, snoring softly after a particularly long shift at St Winifrede's.

When the knock on the door came, it was soft and hesitant. Hermione smiled, calling out, "Come in." The knob turned, and Teddy slipped through the door as soon as there was space for his small frame. Dressed in dinosaur pyjamas with his stuffed hippogriff in his arms, he met his aunt's eyes. "Can't sleep, Teddy?" she asked quietly.

He nodded, clutching Bucky closer. "She's loud."

Hermione hummed, "I know, but that's the way babies are sometimes." She tilted her head, studying the obviously tired boy standing at the end of her bed. "Why don't you stay with us for a bit, eh?" Teddy nodded, climbing gently in beside her as she shuffled closer to her wife to give him space.

He settled next to her, yawning, and laid a finger on the book in her lap. "Good story?" He melted even further into her side.

She smiled, reminded of the baby he had once been. Teddy was an undeniable cuddler – a rather endearing trait, she thought. "One of my favorites, yes."

"Would I like it?"

He must have been exhausted, as his free thumb made its way into his mouth. He had mostly given up that habit, except when he was sick or overtired. "I think you would. Want to hear the first bit?"

Teddy nodded, mumbling around his thumb, "Yes, please."

She marked her place, and opened back up to the beginning.  _"When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton."_

Within a few pages, he was drooped against her, his breathing deep and even. She continued to read, slowly getting quieter and quieter, until she was barely whispering. Shutting the book, she carefully levitated it over to her bedside table, turned off the light, and drew up the duvet over the two of them. Settling back against the pillows, she let one arm curl around Teddy as he unconsciously snuggled as close as he could, and the other found its way to her wife's body.

Above them, she could hear the gentle pacing Harry often engaged in to soothe Jane, and she was between her wife, who snored when exhausted, and Teddy, who just snored. Hermione smiled to herself. When Jane was over her colic, perhaps it would be time to bring up getting pregnant to Fleur. By then, Teddy should be used to having another child in the house, and with luck they could avoid two children in nappies if they timed the birth right. It was something to think about. Until then, she had her beloved nephew who had not yet decided he was too old for cuddles, and her beautiful new niece who, finally, was starting to calm herself upstairs.

Hermione had never expected so much joy in her life, and it was with a contented look on her face that she slid off to dreamland.

X-X-X-X

2007

Stumbling out of the Floo, Fleur absent-mindedly patted her green Healer's robes free of soot. Shrugging the still filthy robes off, she dumped them into a laundry basket set conveniently next to the fireplace, always ready to accept whatever disgusting clothes she or whomever was not willing to tramp through the house in. Hermione had set it there during her residency, after she came home covered in a particularly disgusting goo a patient's accidental magic had produced, and that no cleaning charm she knew would remove. To this day, she was fairly certain her wife had ended up setting the robes on fire in frustration. In merely her worn scrubs, she moved towards their bedroom.

Their bedroom, where her wife basically lived at the moment, sentenced to bedrest during the last months of her pregnancy. Hermione Granger was not meant for bedrest, or taking it easy. But like her mother and grandmother before her, Hermione was in the midst of a difficult pregnancy. Their healer, Fleur's colleague Liz, had insisted Hermione stay in bed and rest as much as possible during her last two months of gestation. Fleur debated with herself what she would find upon entering her room. It was something new every day.

Climbing the stairs, desiring only a hot shower, a cup of tea, and perhaps a short nap before supper, she heard quiet voices murmuring from her room. Entering, she saw Hermione in oversized flannel pyjamas propped up in bed with a pile of books to one side, but a portfolio spread across her lap. Next to their bed, Dean Thomas perched on a simple wooden chair, pointing to something in his drawing.

"I thought the color scheme here should be Hufflepuff colors. The old wizard is sort of like the best of them, and the son should maybe be in Slytherin colors?" Dean said as she stepped up to the end of her bed.

"For the father, yes, but I'm not sure we should perpetuate that stereotype about Slytherins. What does Tracey think?" Hermione said, concentrating on the detailed picture in front of her.

"It was her idea," Dean replied, sheepish.

Fleur cleared her throat. "Is this resting, really?"

Hermione started, an embarrassed grin working its way across her face as she caught sight of her wife. "Dean was just visiting, showing me the next batch of illustrations for Beedle, love," she said, clearing her throat lightly. "I even had him make me tea, and sandwiches," she gestured to the tray with teapot, cups, and a plate of half-eaten sandwiches on her nightstand.

Fleur raised an eyebrow and rolled her eyes at their friend, who shrugged and winked. More likely, he had insisted on her staying in bed while he fetched her tea instead of letting the very pregnant woman serve him. His wife had given birth several months prior and he was rather familiar with stubborn bullheadedness during pregnancy. "And I was just leaving. Keep them overnight, I'll stop by midday tomorrow and we can talk about it. I'll even have Tracey jot down some notes for you on her reasoning, if you like," he offered.

"That would be wonderful, Dean," Hermione replied. "Thank you. I'll see you around one-ish?"

"Around then, depending on when Julian agrees to go down for his morning nap," Dean agreed, "And I'll bring him round with me. Tracey was writing today but she's got some research to do in the ministry archives and so I've got him all day." He grinned. Dean, like Hermione, Tracey, and a few others in their circle, worked primarily from home, partially to accommodate their children and partially because crowds – all these years later – still made them nervous.

"Oh, I haven't seen him in a couple of weeks, that'd be lovely," Hermione gushed. Julian was overall a happy baby, and in his baby way rather adored his Aunt Hermione. With Dean's wide smile and Tracey's calculating, intelligent gaze, he had drawn in his parents' friends like a fisherman with a lure.

"I'm sure he'll enjoy it," Dean smiled. "Good to see you, too, Fleur." He nodded to her, sharing the smile of the non-pregnant spouse league – a club she had found herself relying on to maintain her sanity as Hermione struggled against her medical restrictions and the deluge of gestational hormones.

"And you as well," Fleur replied, "Thank you for keeping her company."

"Always a pleasure. We're getting quite a lot of work done. The book should be ready to print right around the time she pops." He laughed softly, "A book and a baby at the same time. Can't do anything by halves, can she?"

The two of them grinned at each other as Hermione scowled in bed. "I'm right here," she snapped. Dean's grin widened, and he left quickly, abandoning Fleur to the pregnant woman's mood.

"I know, love," Fleur soothed. "And once I have showered the stench of hospital off of me, I shall pay all the attention I can to you."

"If I wasn't so  _fat_ , I could join you. I haven't scrubbed your back in weeks," Hermione crossed her arms.

"I miss that as well, but it's safer if we don't. I will not risk you or the bébé, even for a round of shower sex," Fleur smiled.

"But I  _like_ shower sex," Hermione growled.

"So I've heard," came Harry's blushing reply from the doorway.

Hermione groaned, covering her reddening face with her hands. "Please tell me Teddy and Jane didn't hear that."

"No, they're with Luna in the kitchen, helping put away the shopping. We stopped at the market on the way home." At Hermione's hopeful look he nodded, "And yes, we bought more pineapple for you."

"Thank you, Harry," Fleur said, sighing. Her wife's cravings had been odd, but not completely out of bounds.

"No problem. At least it's not plimpy soup," he replied, grimacing. Luna's cravings had been decidedly unusual, and as her husband  _and_  the cause of her pregnancy, he'd been forced to make more than a few nontraditional meals for her.

"Ugh, thankfully," Hermione said. "Can we get takeout for supper? I'm in the mood for curry."

"Of course. Your normal order?" With her nod, he left to walk to their local curry shop.

"Sending your brother out for curry. I think you're taking advantage of him," Fleur smiled. "Now, I really do need to shower, love. Give me a few minutes and I'll help you down to the kitchen."

"I'll be here. It's the only place I am these days," Hermione called after her wife, settling back against the pillows.

Fleur just laughed as she stripped out of her scrubs. They were magically-enhanced to avoid dirt as well as bacteria and viruses, but they still felt sweaty and worn after a long shift. Ten minutes later, towel wrapped around her body and hair damp, she returned to the bedroom, shutting the door as she moved to pull out clothing and then dress.

"Do you need to use the toilet before we go down?" Fleur asked, distracted, as she shoved a foot into a pair of worn denims.

"I probably should," Hermione admitted, started to lever herself up.

Half an hour later found both of them at the table, Teddy already digging into his tikka masala and Jane gumming a small piece of naan from her high chair. Harry and Luna moved around the children, setting takeout containers down and getting plates from the pantry.

Fleur, next to Teddy, cut up his chicken as his fork flashed around her utensils, "Patience, Theodore," she admonished with a grin. "Don't eat so quickly. It's not good for your digestion. And take some dhal to go with your chicken."

Hermione looked around the room, soaking in the atmosphere. The formerly dark and foreboding kitchen of the House of Black had become a warm, welcoming place. She was surrounded by her family, which they was about to expand shortly, and she had tasty curry. She smiled, settling a warm hand on Fleur's thigh, and turned her attention to the feast of takeout containers before her.

"Can you hand me the parotha, Luna?"

fin.


	7. She Gave Me Her Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Title from a lyric in "Kisses Sweeter Than Wine" by The Weavers, though I'm most familiar with the Peter Paul and Mary recording thereof. Also, there might be a Calvin & Hobbes reference that I snuck in. Internet cookies for anyone that spots it.

X-X-X-X

September 2002

Pulling on her coat, Hermione turned to her best friend. "What exactly are these errands you so need my help for?" It was a Tuesday afternoon, she was done with class for the day, Luna was at the Quibbler offices with Teddy who – even at four - loved to 'help' his godfather's girlfriend work at the paper, and Fleur was on shift at St Winifrede's until midnight.

"You'll see." Harry buttoned his coat, and checked his pockets for keys as well as wallet. "Come on. We have a lot to do." Sighing, she wound a light scarf around her neck and followed Harry out the door towards the tube station.

She slid her arm through his, matching his stride, and let him take the lead as they worked their way through the thin crowds of a weekday afternoon. "Will you tell me, eventually?" she asked, as they meandered.

He looked over at her, smiling. "I need your help to pick out a ring. For Luna."

"A ring?" Her eyebrow quirked upwards. "You mean… a ring?" She stopped briefly, in surprise, tugging him to a halt, before moving again. "I'd think you'd want to give her an heirloom ring. Don't the Potters or Blacks have something that would work for this?"

"They do," Harry grinned, "But they're all rather… stodgy. And Luna isn't. Besides, while we're out and about, we can look for a ring for you."

"A ring for me? I'm quite sorry, Harry, but I don't date within my family," Hermione grinned.

"For you to give to Fleur. I noticed you've been following the news regarding gay rights in that vein rather closely the past few months," Harry replied softly.

Hermione huffed, "It's still years away, optimistically. And who knows how long it will take before the Queen forces the change on our Ministry." She shook her head sadly, "It's a pipe dream."

"You're forgetting several things – whether our Ministry accepts it in a timely fashion or not, you're Muggleborn, and Fleur's a halfblood like me, so she has muggle documentation. You can take advantage of that for once, when it happens. And it isn't always about the law. If you want to give your girl a ring, you can give her a ring. It'll matter to her and you, and me and Luna. To Teddy, and all our friends. Besides, I looked. The magical vows don't specify any genders. The Ministry might not recognize it, but  _magic itself_  will and what higher authority can you find? I know, I  _know_  it's not a perfect solution, because you deserve to actually have your rights – laws and taxes and everything - but waiting for that when you've got a girlfriend – a partner - who'd make those vows in a second? Not worth it," Harry grinned at the look of wonder in his best friend's eyes.

"Harry…"

"So, should we look for some rings?" he asked, pulling his best friend along after she'd stopped in her tracks.

A brilliant smile lit Hermione's face, "Yes, I think we shall."

Harry led them to a small, out of the way storefront. As they opened the door, Hermione felt the presence of several low-level wards. "Harry? Is this a magical shop?"

He nodded, quietly explaining as he held the door for her, "A muggleborn took over his family's store a few generations ago, and has since expanded his clientele to include the, shall we say, discerning magical customer. The family fled during the War, but they've rebuilt. Uncle Tim recommended this place; he was at Hogwarts with the owner's son."

Hermione relaxed – Luna's uncle Tim knew all the best muggleborn, halfblood, and liberal pureblood businesspeople, as he'd networked with them for years upon opening his own bookshop. "So the rings can be properly enchanted?" she asked. Though the fully magical ceremony wasn't as common as it had been in the past, with the rise of divorce in the magical world, it was something aspired to even if the ceremony was a simple civil one. As a sign of a magical wedding vow taking root in the soul of a witch or wizard, the rings were enchanted to remain warm to the touch as long as both spouses were alive, no matter the distance between them. Though the woman's ring was traditionally presented at the engagement, both rings were bought together and enchanted at the same time, only fully activated by the verbalization of the vows during a ceremony that required at least one magical witness as well as a bonder – much like an Unbreakable Vow in form though not in content, and the wedding vows could be rescinded if divorce became necessary. Special training was required to make the rings used in the ceremonies, and she was shocked a non-pureblooded shopkeeper had managed to learn it.

"Yes. My great-grandmother was a pureblood and her family had books on the subject that she took from the family home before eloping with my great-grandfather," said a tall, thin man from behind the counter. "They were somewhat self-taught, but we've perfected it in the subsequent years. And we make it a point to sell our wedding rings at an affordable cost to muggleborns and halfbloods who otherwise wouldn't be generally able to purchase magical jewelry of this type." He smiled thinly, "That's why we've been targeted so often by the shall we say more conservative purebloods. How dare we muggle filth besmirch their traditions, eh?"

Hermione laughed, "How dare we indeed!" Squeezing Harry's arm in hers, she separated from him, and moved to shake the man's hand, "Hermione Granger, pleased to meet you," she offered.

"Reginald Young, Ms Granger. It's a pleasure to meet you two. Tim was telling me you might stop by for some browsing." He shook her hand, and then gestured to the cases around the shop. "Take a look. Just about any ring we make can be properly enchanted for a marriage band."

She grinned, and turned to Harry. "So. What were you planning for Luna?"

He grinned back, and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm not sure. Just… nothing traditional."

She harrumphed. "Of course. So that's why you brought me, brother dear? You needed a girl?"

Harry laughed, "Well, I'm rather rubbish at all this as you well know. But I want it to be perfect for her. It should mean something."

Hermione looked at him, seeing for a moment the scared skinny boy she'd befriended on the Hogwarts Express eleven years before instead of the grown adult actually standing in front of her. "We'll look together then. You know Luna best. I'm sure you'll know it when you see it."

It took approximately half an hour of carefully studying the many rings available before one just  _clicked_  as something their quirky Ravenclaw friend would wear. In a delicate silver band made of Celtic knotwork sat a pale rounded moonstone carved to resemble the actual moon – they could actually make out the craters and mountains in excruciatingly tiny detail. The matching spouse's band was simpler and had small chips of moonstone set regularly in the silver, runes for happiness, fertility, long life, and family carved into it. Their eyes met over the case, huddled together as they stared at the perfect rings. Modest and beautiful, full of meaning, and with a touch of whimsy. The siblings grinned at each other.

"Mister Young, I've found my rings," Harry said, smiling at the quiet man who had sat in the corner waiting for them.

He put down the paper he'd been reading – the previous issue of the  _Quibbler_  – and barked a laugh. "Well, that was one of the faster choices this week. Your young lady is unique, I know." He came up to them, and saw the rings Harry had pointed out. Chuckling, he moved to take the set from the case, "Well now, this was a bit of an experiment and a bit of a pun. It's my sister's work. A moonstone, shaped like the moon, eh? Set in our best silver, and a resizing charm already applied. I'll need a few hours to get the enchanting done for the bonding. It's a multistep process."

"That's perfect, Mister Young. Though we've still got rings to find, for Hermione," Harry replied as his best friend blushed. "If we find what we want today, could we pick both up tomorrow? I know how draining enchanting can be."

Reginald grinned widely. "Of course." He set Harry's choices aside, and returned the rest of the display to its case. "Let me know if you need anything," he said before returning to his chair and his reading.

Silently, the two went back to their silent language of looks and gestures, scanning the next case in their quest for a ring for Fleur. Twenty minutes later, Hermione gasped as she spotted two matching red gold rings inlaid with runes of dark amber. A smile stole across her face, and Harry would have sworn she glowed as their eyes met. He grinned, and called Reginald over again. Within twenty minutes, Harry had paid – to Hermione's protest – and they had arranged to pick up the rings the next day, after both sets had been enchanted for the magical wedding vows, as well as a protective charm, especially given the relative softness of amber as a stone. They were grinning like fools as they left the store, stopping in front of the door to don their coats given the harsh wind that had whipped up out of nowhere as they'd shopped, other shoppers on the street outside huddling against it. As they went to step outside, Reginald called out, "Miss Granger?" They turned to look at him curiously, and a small smile stretched across his face. "I wanted to thank you. My eldest son is a fourth year Puff. He and his boyfriend are dating – openly, and thank you for the ability to do so. Things are much different than I remember, that they can do that. So. Thank you."

Hermione blushed. She'd never thought to be a role model in that way, but knew it was true, due to the honest coverage the  _Quibbler_  gave of her taking Fleur to a few public events, and the more salacious coverage of the  _Prophet_ that blatantly toed the line of the new slander laws. "You're quite welcome Mister Young. Tell your son he's certainly braver than I was at that age." She smiled at him, and ducked out into the street, Harry right behind her.

Harry grinned at her as they walked down the street. "That's true. Fourth year you were on the arm of Mister Masculinity himself at the ball, weren't you?" He laughed. "The only Champion you haven't been linked to in the press is Cedric, isn't it?" He sobered at the thought of his fallen comrade. "Well, given what I recall, he might have found that rather funny."

Hermione nodded, "That's the impression I have as well. His journals are full of wry, witty observations." She glanced over at her brother, noting the faraway look in his eyes, and linked their arms together. "But let's not dwell on the past. The future is much more important. Have you any ideas on how to ask Luna? Because I'm rather drawing a blank on how to ask Fleur."

X-X-X-X

Fleur settled into her favorite spot in Grimmauld Place's library – a thickly cushioned loveseat near the window and right below a lamp. It was the perfect reading or contemplating spot and she intended to enjoy the quiet evening ahead of her. She and Hermione had the house to themselves for the evening, as Harry was taking Luna and Teddy out to the cinema, then dinner. She loved all of them, but a four year old boy was sometimes taxing on her energy reserves after a long shift at St Winifrede's.

She was in the midst of a particularly difficult part of her training – not that any part could be considered  _easy_ by any stretch of the imagination – but she was finally able to fully specialize. Which for Fleur Delacour – Triwizard Champion, top student of her class at Beauxbatons, and War Hero – meant two specialties. Out of necessity during the War she'd taught herself a good deal of Trauma Healing, with a bit of tutoring from Poppy Pomfrey on the sly, and had decided to make that official. But her desire had always been to work as a Childbirth & Pediatric Healer. That specialty alone was the elite of the elite, and to have her Trauma work on top of it? Sometimes Fleur wondered what madness had propelled her down that dual career path.

Then she recalled her genius girlfriend was doing three Masteries at the same time – one of which included a Muggle undergraduate degree as part of her focus – all scheduled to be finished in a total of five years including her foundation year. Granted, Hermione was in classes year-round, but a less brilliant student would have required at least seven years if not more. She occasionally wondered how Hermione had managed to stave off the boredom of a traditional Hogwarts education until she recalled all the death-defying adventures her girlfriend had been a part of, as well as the copious extra reading Hermione had managed around her regular homework and bouts of defying Voldemort. All that extra studying paid off, given it had allowed Hermione to test out of multiple courses at university.

She sighed. Three solid, happy years as a couple, and though they spent all the time they could together, it never seemed like enough. She tried to turn her attention back to the rather fascinating book in front of her, on treatment for incorrectly cast spells – but her mind wandered. Their time together was often spent cuddling while both read from their respective books, or even just being in the same room as they did their work – Fleur researching a procedure or Hermione writing a paper. Not that they didn't have what Hermione called  _quality time_ as a couple _._  A free weekend, or evening, or a rare afternoon spent going to museums, restaurants, or just curled together in bed, talking and making love - when family commitments didn't interfere - wasn't uncommon.

Perhaps her craving for Hermione was a sign of how much she needed and loved her girlfriend. They both had plans for the future that didn't include all their time being taken up by school or work. Once Hermione finished her degrees and Fleur her training, they had discussed a trip or two. Further in the future they both wanted children. But that future they imagined was so slow to arrive. Fleur was frustrated. Was it too much to ask for some time with the love of her life?

She checked the slowly ticking clock. Hermione should have arrived home half an hour ago. Senses heightened. Perhaps she had stopped at one of the university libraries for a text, or at the grocer's. Fleur shook off her unease. The vast majority of Death Eaters and their supporters had been either thrown into Azkaban, or quietly pressured to behave. Several families had even left England for the more conservative areas of the Continent – generally those near Durmstrang, as Victor had noted with disgust in a recent letter. Minus the threats and scattered violence that had erupted for two years after the war was over, Magical Britain had been generally peaceful. Of course, Hermione could have been hit by a muggle lorry. Fleur set aside her book, and paced to the window. The library overlooked the street, and she could see her girlfriend walking towards home. Hermione was carrying her normal enchanted knapsack as well as a large takeout bag. Fleur smiled. The last evening they'd had alone together, Fleur made bouillabaisse for them and they'd enjoyed a quiet candlelit dinner before heading up to bed. It had been a divine evening, one that had left them contentedly sated – and Fleur sporting a rather prominent love bite on her throat the next morning. As Hermione was most certainly not allowed to cook after the noodle incident, she obviously wanted to return the favor with their favorite takeout.

Fleur opened the door before her girlfriend had to struggle with her bags as well as the door. Gently pecking Hermione on the cheek, she relieved the other woman of the takeout, "Shall I set this out for dinner while you freshen up, love?"

Hermione smiled brightly at Fleur, "Yes, please. I'll only be a few." With her now free hand she closed the door behind her, heading up the stairs to deposit her bag, wash her face, and grab the ring box she'd hidden in her underwear drawer the week before. Tucking the small box into her jeans pocket, she headed to the bathroom to run a comb through her curly hair and brush her teeth. Crookshanks was sprawled on the bed she shared with her girlfriend – their separate rooms swapped for one the previous year. "Tonight, Crooks, I think," she remarked to her familiar. He blinked up at her, offering only a swish of his bottlebrush tail as comment.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione went into the kitchen, her girlfriend making tea as the cartons holding their dinner gently steamed on the table. She might have gone a bit overboard in her purchases, but the leftovers would not go to waste. Fleur had spread out the mix of Westernized and traditional offerings that the Gold Bowl two blocks over made, having set the table with plates, chopsticks, soup bowls, and spoons. Fleur turned as she entered the room, her expression soft and affectionate. "Hungry this evening? We'll have leftovers for days."

She chuckled, nervousness creeping in. "I just wanted all our favorites, I couldn't decide!"

"You bought half the menu, it seems. But everything looks delicious." Fleur set their tea down next to already full water glasses, pulling Hermione into a gentle embrace once her hands were free.

"Set aside some lo mien for the elves. You know how they enjoy it," Hermione remarked, nodding towards the icebox.

"Already done, and some beancurd as well. Winky's become rather fond, I noticed," Fleur replied.

"Where are they tonight, anyway? I haven't seen either in days."

Fleur ladled some soup into her bowl, "Kreacher is at Andromeda's, of course, and Winky had some administrative duties in Godric's Hollow that's kept her busy for awhile. She said she'd be back tomorrow sometime."

Though the most well known Potter property in Godric's Hollow had been mostly destroyed in 1981 and then seized as a historical monument by the Fudge administration, there were still the handful of buildings further out of town – most notably a pottery as well as a carding mill that processed the wool of the many sheep the Potter family had traditionally raised. The Potters, never a politically powerful family, had nevertheless been fairly prosperous, producing fine pottery and wool for the magical economy for centuries. Though the pottery and carding mill, as well as the barns for sheep and a small cider mill, had languished after James Potter's father had been killed and before Harry had learned of his inheritance, several were now busy again, staffed with a mix of squibs, muggleborns and free elves supervised by Harry and Winky, who were together taking a series of correspondence courses in business.

Hermione nodded, sitting down across from her girlfriend. "She's been trying to get the cider mill up and working again, I think. There are so few people left who can rebuild or maintain machinery of that vintage. I think she mentioned something about interviewing staff eventually, but I hadn't realized she managed it so quickly."

Fleur laughed, "The Potter businesses – the only ones where the first round of employment interviews are conducted by an elf. It must make the more conservative types sputter in indignation at the very notion."

She grinned, "Well, if they can't work with an elf or a muggleborn, they can't work for a Potter business. Why do you think I'm the one who conducts the second round of interviews? In obviously muggle clothes?"

Fleur reached out with her free hand, lacing their fingers together as they ate, "And the only Potter woman is careful to make sure her family's businesses are running smoothly, oui?"

Hermione blushed, "Well, there's tradition to keep in mind. The Potters have been known for their pottery and wool for a dozen generations. Who are we to destroy that legacy?"

"I am in love with a farmer, aren't I?" Fleur teased.

Hermione nodded, "Every Hogwarts uniform cloak used to be made of Potter wool. Someday soon it will be again!" she said. "Harry is very close to making a deal with Madam Malkin's to restore that tradition."

"I did not realize you had so many sheep in your flocks already."

Hermione grinned, "Winky is an expert negotiator for buying livestock. She's more used to cattle, apparently the Crouches had a small dairy before the first War, but has adapted admirably these past couple of years."

Fleur shook her head good-humoredly, "I know you sleep, I'm in bed with you, but my love, how on earth do you have time for all this? Student, businesswoman, and I know you've been teaching Teddy his letters."

Shaking her head, Hermione said, "I don't know, Fleur. Harry hasn't let me do much for the business while I'm at university, mostly he leaves the interviews to me and asks advice, but I can't wait to be done with my education. I want to take you on a trip." She set down her fork, and reached into her pocket. "Perhaps a honeymoon?" She set the medium-sized box on the table between their plates, opening it so that Fleur could see the two wedding bands on simple gold chains. Between the proposal and the joining, couples would wear their future spouse's ring on a chain around their necks so that the rings would be matched to each other's magic.

"Hermione," Fleur breathed out softly, squeezing her girlfriend's hand and staring at the rings in front of her.

"Fleur Isabelle Delacour, will you marry me?" Hermione's voice was quiet, gentle, and almost terrified.

Their eyes met, blue to brown, and Fleur's smile became radiant. "Of course, my love. Of course." She gripped Hermione's hand tightly before rounding the table to pull the other woman into her arms. Leaning down, she kissed her fiancée.

fin.


	8. The Warmth of Your Tiny Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Title from a John Denver lyric. I don't speak French so if my use of internet translation is off, please correct me. I would also like to extend a thanks to everyone following/favoriting/commenting on this series. I am deeply humbled by your support. I would also like to reiterate my thanks to whistle.the.silver over on FF.net for her encouragement, without which I never would have posted the first chapter.

6 June 2005, 0235

Hermione shifted minutely in her seat on the visitor's lounge sofa, smoothing her hand over Teddy's muted purple hair. Her nephew was snoring with his head in her lap. On another sofa were Phil Lovegood and Tim Roberts, leaning into each other and fast asleep. She had tried to sleep, really she had. They'd been at St Winifrede's since the night before. A family dinner out – she and her wife, her brother and sister-in-law, her nephew at a fantastic little seafood restaurant they'd found near Fleur's preferred fishmonger - had turned into the early stages of labor for an overdue Luna. At first thinking it was a bit of indigestion from her lovely scallop plate, Luna had ignored the signs, until a quick diagnostic charm by Fleur led to an insistence that they head to St Winifrede's by Harry.

She had been in the magical world for fourteen years and she _still_ hated the Knight Bus, though since Stan and Ernie were no longer in charge, at least the driving had improved a little. They'd called it outside the restaurant and been in Aberystwyth outside the hospital within minutes once the conductor realized why they needed to use his services – a large reason for the founding of the Knight Bus (previously the Knight Tram and before that the Knight Carriage) had been for those who could not use other means of magical transportation such as portkeys, floo, or Apparition. Which generally meant the young, the elderly, the infirm, or the pregnant. As Luna was _very_ pregnant as well as panting from the onset of contractions, she became the priority passenger.

Hermione looked around. St Winifrede's was familiar, comforting to her. Founded by the Muggle-born Healer son of a doctor in the 1820's, it was the only magical hospital in the United Kingdom that mixed together magical and muggle medical techniques and equipment. It was also the only magical hospital to provide _quality_ treatment for Squibs, werewolves, those of nonhuman ancestry, and muggles injured or sickened by magical means. After the first Healer at St Mungo's to provide a post-War checkup to Teddy had been appalled at his metamorph/werewolf parents, Andromeda and Harry quickly moved his primary care to St Winifrede's. It was also where Fleur had gone through her training and then taken a position in the very ward they were at, and where their friend Padma was a Potions Mistress and Researcher. If the grumbling Hannah was currently engaging in over the policies and politics of St Mungo's was any indication, another friend would soon be joining the ranks of the internationally-acclaimed staff.

"Any word?" came a soft voice from down the hall, accompanied by the smell of coffee.

Hermione turned to catch sight of a haggard-looking Padma carrying two large, steaming mugs. "No, not yet. What on earth are you doing here this time of morning?"

"Potion-making, what do you expect?" Her friend sighed, passing one of the mugs to her, "It had to be carefully monitored at this step, and I needed to add the fluxweed precisely," she checked her watch, "twenty two minutes ago. Which I did. It should be fine for a few hours, thank god. Prajeet was screaming most of last night so I haven't had a good sleep in far too long."

"He still have colic?" Hermione tutted worriedly. Barely three months old, Prajeet Longbottom was already known for his strong lungs and how exhausted his parents continuously appeared. Especially since some of Padma's more volatile experiments could not be put off until after her maternity leave, so she was back to work once or twice a week to tend them.

"Yes. I should probably feel guilty that I had to come in during the middle of the night to move onto the next step in my potion, but honestly I'm thankful for the quiet," Padma admitted.

"Reassuring thought, considering I'll soon be living with an infant, again," Hermione smiled.

"Ah, but an infant with two parents in the house and screaming on a different floor," Padma grinned. "You'll have to cope with that one, though. Not being the only child in the house anymore," she pointed out, gesturing to the sleeping Teddy.

"I know," Hermione sighed. "Only Fleur has any siblings, you know, and she was just a bit older than he is when Gabrielle is born. But it's such a complicated situation."

Padma studied her friend, "What are you worried about?"

Hermione made a quick movement with her hand, sending Teddy into a deeper sleep, and then waving her fingers in a complicated silencing charm. Wandless, silent magic was something she rarely did in public, but Padma already knew about some of her abilities. "We have made sure to teach him about Remus and Tonks. He knows, as well, that he is _ours_ , that we love him as our own, all four of us. But very simply, he also knows he wasn't _always_ ours - he vaguely remembers living with Andromeda. And this baby, Harry and Luna's baby, is theirs in a way he isn't. I don't want him to feel different from her."

Settling into an armchair facing Hermione, Padma sipped at her drink, "Have you noticed, when he shifts, and is not doing the rainbow hair thing – which honestly, he picked up from all the stories everyone's told about Tonks – he has wild black hair and brown eyes?"

She shrugged, "Of course. He's done that since he was a toddler."

"He does that so he looks more like his parents. Like you and Harry," Padma pointed out softly. "I don't think he does it consciously, or to make you love him as your son. I think he does it because you are his parents – functionally speaking, and emotionally speaking - and every child wants to look like their folks. Wants to see the similarities, that they belong." She took a hearty sip of her coffee. "Your situation is unique. A brother and sister raising a child together. But he treats the two of you like parents no matter that he calls you aunt and uncle. In the end, you and Harry are the ones who have raised him the most. You're home with him, you make the decisions about his care, you teach him. Luna and Fleur are very involved and loving and they are his parents as well, but he looks to you two first. I don't think he, or you, truly realize it."

Hermione sat silently, mulling over her friend's words. Thoughts and memories and ideas slotted into place in her mind. Harry had named her Teddy's co-guardian as soon as he assumed full custody from an ailing Andromeda, listing Luna and Fleur as alternates, along with a fairly extensive list of others to take his godson in should the worst happen. In practice, she had helped raise Teddy since the moment she came back from Australia, with the only gap being her last year at Hogwarts. Even then, she was frequently home during the weekends and able to take some of the burden off of Harry as he desperately cleaned and remodeled Grimmauld to be more child-friendly. Not that Teddy was a burden, but no one could strip moldy wallpaper while tending to a fussy baby and as much as Kreacher had improved in disposition, they didn't trust him with a child, while a newly hired Winky was busy with various Potter properties. There were many long weekend days where she hunkered down in her bedroom with Teddy in his bouncer, her coursework spread out around her as she studied for her NEWTs and tended the child she slowly came to see as her own.

Padma gestured to the doorway, which was thrown open, Fleur there in scrubs and robe. With a flick of her wrist, Hermione dropped the silencing charm.

"She's here! Four and a half kilograms, fifty-one centimeters. Mother is doing wonderfully!" came the exultant cry.

Teddy stirred in her lap, and she gently pushed him upright as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. With quick steps, Fleur was in front of her, eyes shining, hair askew.

Grabbing the half-finished coffee from her hands, Fleur downed it in two gulps. "Thank you, love," she said, grinning at her wife and throwing a wink at Padma. "She wants everyone to come see. You as well, Padma, she said everyone."

Long familiar with Luna's gentle and almost eerie sense of the world, Padma nodded. "I'd be glad to."

"Would you like to come meet your cousin, Theodore?" Fleur asked with a soft grin, offering him her hand. He nodded, shyly, reaching for her. She pulled him close, wrapping an arm around him, letting him snuggle close to her body as they walked.

Hermione smiled. Fleur and Teddy's bond was impossibly endearing to her. Rising, she settled a hand on her wife's back, letting Fleur lead them into the ward, Tim and Phil right behind her, Padma trailing nonchalantly and chatting with the two older men.

The delivery ward of St Winifrede's was painted in soft shades of various pastels. Near the nurse's station was a large bulletin board filled with Wizarding pictures of successful deliveries. Hermione noticed Padma, Neville, and Prajeet in one recent photograph. She'd met Prajeet a few days into his life, once they were home from the hospital. Right after birth, Padma looked exhausted, Neville frazzled, and Prajeet had an even stronger resemblance to Winston Churchill than he had had when she'd met him as a five-day-old, his face red and slightly smooshed.

Entering a room with a decorative border of unicorns and crups frolicking ridiculously together, Hermione saw her best friend hovering over his pale, tired wife. "I'm quite alright, Harry. And if you keep looming over me, the nargles will find you far too tempting," came her lilting voice.

A small cry came from the swaddled form in her arms. "Let me take her," Harry pleaded softly.

"Would you like that? Go to your father, now," Luna almost cooed, handing off the newborn to her husband.

"You have company," Fleur said from the doorway, leading Teddy over to the bed.

Greeting their guests with wide, if exhausted, smiles, Harry met Hermione's eyes briefly, his expression beaming, before fixing his attention on Teddy. "'Lo, Teds. I'm so glad you're here. Would you like to meet your new cousin?"

Silently, the boy nodded, letting Fleur guide him closer. Harry dropped gently into a chair pulled beside Luna's bed, and shifted so the baby was curled into one elbow, freeing up his other arm to go around Teddy's shoulders. "Teddy, this is your cousin, Jane Isabelle," he said softly, as his godson studied the baby before him. "Jane, this is your big cousin Teddy."

Hermione smiled, a few tears running down one cheek. Harry and Luna had been surprisingly quiet about what they planned to name their daughter. She leaned softly against her wife, Fleur's arm going automatically around her waist as she did.

"Here, why don't you take her, godmothers," Harry said softly, after a few minutes, rising to hand his daughter to Hermione. "I think she'd like to meet you both."

Once the baby was cradled in Hermione's arms, he tugged his godson into a loose hug, "So did you get any sleep tonight?"

Hermione ignored her brother and nephew's conversation as she concentrated on the new life in her arms. Jane had a thin smattering of her father's dark hair and already displayed her mother's pale silvery-grey eyes. Even in a baby, it was a striking combination. She could feel her wife warm against her back and side, peering over her shoulder. A long, pale finger stroked Jane's arm, and the half-asleep baby gripped it tightly. Grinning, Hermione turned to Fleur, her wife's smile brilliant even through the easily apparent exhaustion.

As the middle of the night wore on, baby Jane was carefully passed around the gathered family, as well as a delighted Padma. When Luna drifted off to sleep, Harry reclaimed his daughter and ushered everyone into the hall. Setting a tender hand on his nephew's shoulder, he turned to Fleur with a cheeky smile, "Well, Healer Delacour, how long until Luna and Jane get to go home?"

"At least a day, Mister Potter," Fleur replied, grinning just as widely. "And as I am off-shift now, I shall take our young Mister Lupin and my dear Hermione home for a nap. If that's quite alright."

"Quite." Harry ruffled Teddy's hair, beaming a grin at the tired if smiling boy, and darted forward to press quick kisses to both Hermione and Fleur's cheeks. "I'll see you soon, then?"

"Of course, Harry!" Hermione couldn't help herself, she pulled her best friend, her brother, into a careful but crushing hug as she maneuvered around her new niece. "Try to get some sleep yourself, and something to eat. Or should we bring you both something when we come back?"

"I'll sleep at least," Harry replied, hugging her back with his free arm. "Now go. Teddy here needs to get into bed, and you look dead on your feet, Fleur."

"Oui." She carefully pried her wife off her brother-in-law and led the tired group out to the public apparition point next to the floo. "I think family dinner will be put off this week," she remarked to Phil and Tim. We shall owl." Turning to Padma, she grinned lopsidedly, "I will see you next shift?"

"I believe so. I'll stop by the ward. If nothing else, I'll have some peace and quiet compared to home."

"Colic still?"

Padma nodded, "If it gets worse, I'll bring him in to you."

"Please do." She motioned for Padma to floo out first, and then picked up Teddy to bring him through to Grimmauld Place.

Her wife dead on her feet behind her, she steered Hermione into a deep cushioned chair by the fire before settling a half-asleep Teddy into his bed, tucking his stuffed hippogriff under his arm as she pulled up the covers.

Fleur laughed softly as she reentered the drawing room. Hermione had curled up in the chair and was snoring. She shrugged off her robes, dumping them into a laundry hamper by the floo, before kneeling in front of her wife. "'ermione," she whispered. "Wake up, 'ermione. It is time for bed."

"That seems rather contradictory," came the sleepy response.

"So it is." Fleur gently pulled Hermione to her feet, and led the exhausted woman up the stairs to their room.

"How are you still awake? You should be the one all sleepy," Hermione moaned softly as she let Fleur undress her and slide a nightgown over her head.

"I'm much more used to it, my love," Fleur pointed out. "It's part of my work." In her pyjamas, Hermione leaned against her wife, head nestled into Fleur's shoulder. "We are not sleeping standing up, 'owever, love." She manhandled Hermione over towards their bed, and pulled down the blankets.

Hermione slumped down to sit on the bed, "I should brush my teeth."

"I am quite sure you can pass for one night," Fleur laughed softly, well aware of her love's anal retentive attention to oral health.

Mostly asleep, Hermione nodded, "I did sometimes, in the tent. I didn't bring enough toothpaste with us." As soon as her head hit the pillow, she slipped fully into dreams with her feet still on the floor.

Fleur smiled softly, her brow troubled as she shifted her wife fully onto the bed and tucked her in. Moving quietly, she changed into her own nightwear and went through her evening routine. Teeth brushed and face washed, she slid into bed. Even asleep, Hermione curled towards her warmth automatically and Fleur drew the other woman into her arms.

Seven years after the end of the war, and she still knew only the barest bones of what had happened during the months the Golden Trio - as the _Daily Prophet_ had described the three - disappeared into the wilds of Britain. She knew their goals and about the horcruxes - which was vastly more information than the average wizard or witch had. She knew they had been without many supplies - the household still rarely ate fish or mushrooms in deference to Harry and Hermione's continued loathing of both foods. And she knew Ronald had left them due to an immature spat of temper. But that she knew only because it was to William that Ron had fled and she had gently questioned her wife about it a few years beforehand. But the thoughts and emotions and daily experiences the two had shared in that tent were secrets they were loathe to share even with their wives.

She shook her head to clear it, pulling Hermione even closer. Her wife's inner demons were not hers to fight. She was there as support and love and home and family if Hermione needed her. With a gentle hand, she ghosted her fingers just above the scars on Hermione's neck and arm, the marks of Bellatrix's torture. She had healed those wounds, to an extent even her most experienced colleagues marveled at. The scars remained while the curses were long dispersed. Though cosmetic magic was readily available to camouflage the marks, Hermione tended to long sleeves and scarves instead. With a sad smirk she had once stated that she had been given those marks for being a muggleborn so she'd cover them as her heritage suggested. Only their closest friends had even seen the scars. It had been difficult for Hermione to explain the why and how of it to Teddy once he was old enough to ask. How it was technically his great-aunt who had inflicted them. Even years later Andromeda flinched every time she caught sight of them, flinched at the violence her sister had reveled in.

The household was entering a new era. Teddy was growing like a weed, the Potter family businesses were finally back on their feet, the _Quibbler_ booming in readership, and Hermione's higher education finally complete. Her thesis had been written on the War, the first academic work truly centered on the sociological and historical implications. For two years, intermittent nightmares had troubled Hermione's sleep. From those fearful ramblings Fleur had learned most of what she knew about her wife's experiences. Fleur sighed, she knew Hermione's current work projects - the first text for the revised Hogwarts history class and a proper new translation of Beedle - would bring up old demons just as their household expanded with Jane's arrival.

There was nothing to do about it after an excruciatingly long day on her feet. As the sun crept towards the horizon, Fleur surrendered to sleep cocooned in warmth with Hermione snoring lightly by her ear.

X-X-X-X

By noon, Fleur was able to stumble from bed semi-coherent, dragging a grumpy Hermione with her. She pulled her wife into the ensuite, stripping the brunette of her clothing as she in turn was disrobed, a gentle dance they had perfected together. Nude, they stepped into the shower, finding that one temperature they could agree on - a little hotter than Hermione wished for and a bit cooler than Fleur preferred. With groggy movements, they washed hair and bodies before stepping towards one another, Fleur's arms pulling Hermione to her, their slick skin tingling as they swayed gently back and forth below the spray of the showerhead.

"Ugh. 'm not awake yet," Hermione grumbled.

"Nor I, but Teddy needs to get up, and eat something, and then we can bring some tea and sandwiches to the hospital," Fleur remarked, her face buried in soaked curly hair.

"You work there, you should be able to lobby for better hospital food."

"I think it's a universal constant, love. Can you get him up while I pull a meal together?"

Groaning, Hermione nodded into her wife's shoulder. "I used to be better at this."

"Long days with little or no sleep? It has been a few years. Since there was a baby in the house."

"He's lucky I love him so."

"We are all lucky that you love us so. Come, we have things to do. People to see."

Sliding one hand down to grip a firm buttock, Hermione smirked unseen, "I'd rather a person to do. Specifically you."

"Mmmm, I as well. But there is no rest for the weary. And no sex for the busy." Drawing her wife's chin up with one hand, she placed a gentle kiss on Hermione's lips. "The sooner we get going, the sooner we'll be home to get back to bed."

"Fine. But I expect tea. Strong tea."

"As ma femme demands," Fleur smirked, reaching behind herself to turn off the water. One long arm reached out of the shower to grab a towel for each of them.

Thirty minutes later, Fleur poured the tea just as Hermione shuffled a washed and dressed Teddy into the kitchen. "Bacon sandwiches," she offered, gesturing to the center of the table where a tall pile resided. "Eat as many as you want, Theodore. If we need to make more for Harry and Luna we shall."

The half-asleep boy fell on his food with gusto, his eyes closed as he chewed and thankfully his mouth as well. The manners his Aunt Hermione had ingrained in him were not to be forgotten even when exhausted. "'ank you, Tante."

"You are most welcome, mon garçon doux," Fleur replied, sinking into her chair next to her wife and taking a deep draught of her hot, sweet tea.

Noticing the rate at which her wife and nephew were consuming their meals, she subtly waved her wand, setting the frying pan back on the fire and levitating a fresh rasher of bacon into the pan.

X-X-X-X

As soon as they walked into Luna's hospital room, both exhausted parents turned to them. The smell of bacon wafted from the small hamper Fleur carried.

"You brought us bacon sandwiches?" Harry said, grinning as he gathered Jane up in his arms. "That means you get to hold the baby _first_."

"A fair exchange, I believe!" Fleur laughed as she set the hamper on Luna's bed to accept Jane into her arms.

"The so-called food they served us for breakfast was like something Hermione would make," Harry joked as he unwrapped one sandwich from its wax paper and passed it to his wife before tearing into another himself. "And it was with a beverage that was almost, but not quite, entirely unlike tea."

"Hey!" Hermione mock-glared as she settled into an empty chair and pulled Teddy into her lap. "And you think you're so clever, quoting Douglas Adams!"

The adults all laughed softly. Fleur sunk onto the edge of Luna's bed, her attention fully captured by the baby in her arms. Less than a day old and Jane already had her mother's otherworldly gaze down pat, even as she curled a tiny hand around the finger Fleur offered her. She had never seen Teddy this small, only really spending time with him after she'd moved into Grimmauld Place when he was almost a year old. And while she'd delivered many babies, she rarely got a chance to hold them for any length of time. Even Prajeet Longbottom she had only held for a few minutes before he cried for a feeding.

As Harry and Luna spoke warmly to Teddy, she let her world narrow to just the wide-eyed child in her arms. Until she felt the weight of her wife's gaze on her. Raising her head, she smiled at the soft look Hermione gave her. As Jane gummed on her fingertip, she let the fleeting thought permeate her mind of perhaps someday soon seeing Hermione holding their firstborn. Of holding that little girl in her own arms as Hermione gazed so lovingly at her. She let the warmth of that thought fill her even as she tore her attention from her wife back to her niece. Jane gazed up unfocused, trusting that the warm arms holding her were full of love. And they were.

Veela culture was centered around the primacy of family ties - both those families based on blood and those built on love. Fleur had helped to build a strong family tied together with shared experience and bone-deep faith in those they loved. Like the family her great-grandmothers had built after arrière grand-mère Yvonne had been thrown from her home for loving arrière grand-mère Gunna shortly after the Great War, it was born from the ruins of a violent upheaval. And like her great-grandmothers, all of them made the best out of a bigoted and backwards magical world. And they improved that world for the sake of their offspring. She was quite sure that Teddy and Jane - as well as any other children they had - would face a much better Wizarding Britain than their parents had first encountered.

Fleur smiled as she leaned down to kiss Jane's brow, letting the scent of baby powder and nappies take her back to not only Teddy's earlier years but also the birth of her sister and the many cousins she'd cared for at various times throughout her youth. And as her foremothers had done for generations, she quietly sang for the baby in her arms, welcoming a new life into the world and into her family - into her heart. The subtle magic reached out, tendrils winding around each person in the room as part of Jane's family. The magic bound them together, letting Jane know that these people were ones she could trust, that they would love her no matter what. Jane yawned as the song continued, full of promises of devotion, support, and care. It was normally the mother's joy and honor to sing the song to a newborn, but there was a variation for any close relative to offer up on a child's behalf. Fleur let the tune flow past her lips, aware but uncaring that all discussion had ceased so her family could turn their collective attention to her song. The song spoke of the long history of the Veela, how mothers and daughters traced their histories, passed on their skills, protected the heart of their culture from a world that would sooner erase them. It spoke of the many villages full of Veela families, the traditions that bound them together. And it spoke of how Veela went out into the wider world with the love of their families behind them - and would return to sing new songs of what they had seen. How the songs would change as the people changed, learning from experiences of love, wars won and lost, knowledge gained, all passed down to future generations. Of how she would be a part of those traditions as part of the family of a Veela and could carry that on to her own daughters.

When the song ended, she felt the magic settle over them, pleased with her. She could see as the others became more fully aware of the distinctly Veela spell. Hermione smiled widely, well aware of the feel of her wife's magic. Teddy grinned, revelling in the positive atmosphere the spell reinforced. Harry was pensive for a moment, perhaps reflecting on his own past, before green eyes sparkled behind his glasses and a small smile graced his lips. Luna, meanwhile, carefully leaned forward, still sore, and put a hand on Fleur's elbow near to Jane's tiny head as she pressed a soft kiss to one cheek.

"I 'ope I did not o'erstep," Fleur murmured, her accent thick for a moment as she mentally shifted languages.

"Of course not," Luna replied gently, shifting her gaze between her daughter and her sister-in-law. "No matter the words, that was a song of love, and how can I deny any love for my child? She'll grow up living in many more worlds than just magical Britain, and she'll be all the richer for it. _I'm_ thankful for that." Jane shifted, smacking her lips. "However, I've got to steal her back from you. It's time for her snack. We're almost sure that's her hungry face. Can't deny a newborn her meals, or the wrackspurts will gain an early foothold in her mind."

Fleur laughed, carefully passing Jane back to her mother. Unconcernedly, Luna pulled up her hospital gown and settled Jane at her breast. Harry merely shrugged, and raised his wand to gently close the door. Teddy appeared fascinated - though he had met Prajeet, Padma was by nature and temperament a more modest person and had not breastfed in front of them. Harry gestured his nephew into his lap and quietly explained how Luna was feeding his new cousin.

Rising from the bed, Fleur sat down next to her wife and took Hermione's hand. Their lips met in a soft kiss before Hermione murmured, "Someday, you'll sing that to our daughters, won't you?"

"Oui," Fleur replied, resting their foreheads together. Already she missed having a little body in her arms and a tiny hand warmly gripping her finger. "Oui, I shall."

fin.


	9. This Holy Tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Holiday 2014 Ficlet

Godric’s Hollow, Christmas Eve, 2013

 

Father Taliesin Jones loved the Christmas season. Not only was the entire village covered in Christmas lights and various cheerful decorations, people were _nicer_ than any other time of year. And the holiday services brought in the irregular visitors to his parish.  Like the Potter family.

 

Oh, they weren’t all Potters by blood, even if they followed the Potter boy around like ducklings no matter their surnames. He shouldn’t say _the Potter boy_ – the man was in his thirties, had a wife and children.  But he still remembered the quiet baby Lily and James had brought for baptism, with Sirius Black tagging along to be godfather and Remus Lupin beaming at it all. As a Squib married to a witch, he was very aware of the magical inhabitants of his village.  And aware of Harry Potter’s story.  He was also aware of the famous names that graced his humble centuries-old church every Christmas Eve.  Hermione Delacour-Granger, despite her surname, was every inch a Potter in the way she stood by Harry through everything, and the pair of them, brother and sister by law and magic if not by birth, had been coming quietly to Christmas Eve service together for over a decade.  It had been a year or two after they first attended (while wearing their own faces) that they brought their girlfriends-now-wives, as well as little Teddy Lupin, a wide-eyed child at the time and now a fifth year Gryffindor home for the break.

 

Time had added to the Potter contingent from those first few years.  The Potter and Delacour-Granger children ranged from eight down to four. He watched from the doorway as the last of the stragglers came to wish him a Happy Christmas.  Dressed in matching wool overcoats with knitted caps and mittens, the entire family was beaming, except for four year old Marion who was awkwardly dozing in her mother’s arms, her long legs reaching past Hermione’s knees.  Harry smiled at him, the quietly happy look of a man finally at peace with himself and content with his life.  Glancing around, he dug into what was obviously a magically-expanded pocket to pull out a large wrapped package.  In reach of Father Taliesin, he offered it up with a cheery smirk. 

 

“Not trying to bribe your pastor, are you Mister Potter?” Taliesin joked, “I’m quite sure the good Lord already will welcome you into His kingdom, many many years from now.”

 

“Of course not, Father,” came the quiet, sure reply as Harry smiled.  “But we thought you would appreciate a little something for the holiday.” 

 

Taliesin grinned and looked down at Cedric and John, both bouncing slightly in front of him, “Should I open this now, or wait for the morning, boys?”

 

“Now!  Now!” they chanted.

 

Ripping the paper, he found a matching knitted set of cap and mittens on top of a thick warm jumper in a tasteful holiday pattern.

 

“Aunt ‘mione made it!” Cedric exclaimed, beaming.

 

“I noticed your favorite Christmas jumper looking a bit ragged last season, Father,” Hermione said, using the hand not under Marion’s bottom to scruff her nephew’s unruly blond hair.

 

“It was a bit tattered, isn’t it?  Thank you ever so much,” he replied, smiling widely at the blushing mother of two.  Turning back to the children, he asked, “So, are you going home to settle in for the night?  What are you leaving out for Santa Claus this year?”

 

“Tante made mannala for him!” John burst out.

 

“And Uncle Harry bought his favorite firewhisky,” added Rosalind.

 

Taliesen smiled widely, familiar with the mix of customs the household honored – muggle and magical British, as well as French and Veela. He winked at Fleur, who grinned back and fished a plastic baggie with some of the mannala out of her pocket. “For you,” she said.

 

“I will _never_ turn down your baking, madame,” he teased, carefully tucking the pastries into the sweater before glancing around to slip it under his chasuble and into his alb’s space-expanded pocket.  “Just don’t tell my wife, she’s after me about my sugar intake.”

 

Fleur laughed, nodding, even as she noticed Marion so asleep she was drooling on Hermione’s shoulder.  “Of course not, Father.  But we must be going.  It is past certain children’s bedtimes, and they have to be asleep before Father Christmas will come.  Joyeux Noël to you and your wife.  Are you going to be able to make it for New Year’s?”  They held a party every New Year’s Day for the employees of the Potter businesses and of _The Quibbler_ , as well as various family and friends.  It was basically an all-village party for the magical residents of Godric’s Hollow.

 

“Of course, of course.  We’ll be there!  A happy Christmas to you all,” he replied, shaking everyone’s hands fondly as they headed to the nearest apparition point. As the happy family made its way down the road, he smiled and whispered after them, “Bless you, Potters, bless.”

 

fin…


	10. Ain't No Tongue Can Tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: title from a Bob Dylan lyric.

> [otp prompts: Imagine your OTP in a tickle fight.](http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/120514038610/imagine-your-otp-in-a-tickle-fight)

Their first (and only, for many years) tickle fight was completely unexpected.  Hermione, running her fingers along Fleur’s bare side, hit one of her girlfriend’s rare small ticklish spots in  _just_  the right (wrong?) way, pulling a giggle from the tired woman.  With an impish smile that Fleur couldn’t resist, Hermione had brought her fingertips back to that spot, spurring more giggles.

After many years of tickle fights with her younger sister, Fleur reacted completely without thought.  She moved to straddle her girlfriend, and held Hermione’s hands over her head.  The second Hermione realized she was held down and unable to move, she panicked.  Not just panicked.  It was a level of instinctual defensive reaction that shocked both of them.

Even as the blast of accidental magic slammed Fleur across the room, Hermione’s mind was reasserting control over her body, silently chanting, “It’s not Bellatrix, Bellatrix is  _dead_ ,” with a sort of fervor most people only put into the most desperate of prayers.  Maybe it was a prayer.  

The absolute panic still had seized her chest, and the silent chant was voiced as soon as Hermione could breathe enough to force the words out of her mouth.  “ _Bellatrix is dead.  Bellatrix is dead._ ”  

Meanwhile, on the floor against the far wall of her bedroom, Fleur tried to control her own panic even as she silently checked out her own body for injury.  Accidental magic from a grown adult was  _incredibly_  rare.  It spoke to a level of trauma that she didn’t realize her lover lived with.  Of course, she should have known.  She’d cleaned and tended Hermione’s  _physical_ wounds.  She’d shared a bed during many a nightmare.  But Hermione had never spoken of the events in Malfoy Manor to her.  She’d heard only snatches from Harry, who spoke of it haltingly.  Even amongst all the horrors of the War, it was something neither her girlfriend nor the Man Who Won could get past.

As Hermione’s chant of “ _Bellatrix is dead_ ” got louder and louder as her voice returned, Fleur could hear movement outside her bedroom door.  A hesitant knock sounded at first, but neither of them were really able to reply, as Fleur still felt like a horse had kicked her right in the chest.  When Hermione screamed “Bellatrix is dead,” that’s when Harry barged right into the room, Luna trailing behind.

He didn’t even register that both women were nude, sparing only a quick glance to see that Fleur was conscious before climbing onto the bed with Hermione and setting a gentle hand on the side of her face.

Luna, meanwhile, grabbed a robe from the hook beside the door and tucked it around a pliant Fleur before doing a quick medical scan of the older woman.  Finding no real damage, she pulled a silent, horrified Fleur into the hallway and led her into Hermione’s own room across the hall.

She could hear the quiet murmur of Harry’s words under Hermione’s repeated shrieks of “ _Bellatrix is dead_!” but couldn’t make out what he was saying.

Luna pushed her onto her girlfriend’s bed, patting her cheek softly with a sad smile before sitting down herself, shoulder to shoulder with Fleur.  

“It’s something we have to live with,” Luna said, matter-of-factly.

The younger blonde’s words shocked Fleur back into herself.  “What?”

“That there are things we can’t give them.  That they can only accept from one another.  Like right now.  Only he can get through to her.  It’s the same when he has nightmares.  He won’t say a word about them to me.  Instead, I know he knocks on your door and they scuttle down to the kitchen in the middle of the night, and sit in front of the fire until he either starts talking or it’s morning and he makes breakfast while she does the crossword.”  She smiled softly, apologetically.  “I was in Malfoy Manor but I didn’t experience it like they did.  Together.  As a team on a mission.  And it is easiest to talk to Mister Ollivander when I need to.  Or Dean, though he was there only briefly compared to us.”

Fleur bristled slightly, “It does not bother me the way you imply.  They have many years of history we cannot possibly hope to truly understand, and it makes sense that there are things they share that we may never even know of.”

Luna smiled widely, even though the sadness lingered in her eyes, “That is why your love is so strong and kind.  You love her but you don’t want to own her.” Her expression darkened briefly, thinking of Ron Weasley, and she continued, “And you are not jealous.  Their friendship, their sibling relationship, is not a source of contention.  I look forward to calling you my sister-in-law.”

Startled, Fleur stared at her companion.  “Isn’t it a bit early to speak in such a way?”  Even as she said it, her heart fluttered at the idea of calling Hermione her wife.

Great silver eyes met hers steadily.  “When the love is there, a ceremony is just words.  I think you’ve already made them in your very soul, Fleur Delacour. As have I.”  She stood and walked to the door before turning around.  “Why don’t you pull on some clothes and meet me in the kitchen for some tea?  They’ll come down when they’re ready.”

Grabbing some of her girlfriend’s clothes to wear, Fleur followed her roommate down to the kitchen.  From her own bedroom, she could hear Hermione’s sobs and Harry’s soft voice.  Her heart ached to join them, but it wasn’t quite her place.  Not yet, anyway.  Maybe someday Hermione would open up about Malfoy Manor.  About the rest of the War which had started, truly, in September of 1991.  But until then, Fleur was content to let Harry keep that part of her love safe.  When Hermione was ready, Fleur would be there.


End file.
